


Surrender

by Coragyps



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Bathing/Washing, Bondage, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Sam, Brainwashing, Enemas, Feeding, Gags, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, Medical Kink, Spanking, Submission, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 61,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coragyps/pseuds/Coragyps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Wesson, college drop-out and general nobody, is abducted from his home by a green-eyed stranger.  Taken to the shadowy Facility, he is trained over time to embrace his inner Submissive and become the perfect slave.  But is he making a mistake in trusting Dean to be his Master?</p>
<p>
  <i>Now with two schmoopy domestic timestamps!</i>
</p>
<p>Fabulous art by the lovely Meus_venator and the wonderful Paxdracona.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meus_venator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meus_venator/gifts), [reapertownusa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/gifts).



> Warnings: This is a bottom!Sam story. It starts out non-con and slides into dub-con. There’s also a fair amount of bondage, and a scattering of humiliation/medical kink. There is a tone shift between the main story and the timestamps.

  


_Chapter One_

Sam stood at the window of his crappy third-floor apartment, staring out at the busy street below. It was the usual crowd: people walking dogs, couples holding hands, cars packed with families. He frowned, leaning back from the streaked, grimy glass.

He couldn’t see anybody who seemed to be paying any special attention to him, but for weeks now he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he was being watched. At first it had seemed like mere paranoia, but for more than a month it had persisted on and off - as though he could feel invisible breath on the back of his neck.

It didn’t make any sense. He was a nobody, a college drop out; who would be watching _him_?

He pulled down the battered blinds, trying to cut the light from outside. But since the windows had no curtains, thin yellow strips still slipped through the cracks when he was done.

Mechanically he moved around his bedroom, stripping out of his work clothes and hanging them over the back of a desk chair. There wasn’t much other furniture in the room – an old IKEA dresser, and his unmade bed. It was too early to sleep, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He should probably order takeout, or at least heat up a bowl of ramen, but the thought of eating was completely unappealing. If he couldn’t get to sleep he’d try channel surfing for a few hours, maybe find a good infomercial or a B-movie to shut off his brain.

He pulled on yesterday’s pajama pants and got into bed. The sheets were dirty. He probably should have washed them over the weekend, but hadn’t worked up the energy. Oh well - too late now. It didn’t really matter anyway. He pulled the blanket up over his head, escaping the light outside. _Go to sleep_ , he begged his body, willing his eyelids to grow heavy.

Finally he felt that loosening in his muscles that indicated he was starting to drift off, and threw himself whole-heartedly into the blackness.

**\--**

He awoke suddenly when a firm hand clamped over his mouth. Some kind of a cloth was being held over his face, and when he brought his arms up to push it off, they were quickly intercepted and pinned above his head. He tried to twist away but the cloth moved with him, muffling his cries. “Deep breaths for me,” said a voice near his ear.

Instinctively Sam inhaled, and his head swam from the sickening-sweet smell of whatever was on the fabric. Panicking, he managed to turn his face up and found himself staring directly into a pair of bright green eyes.

“Easy, Sammy,” said the man gently, withdrawing the material and letting Sam take a breath.

Sam frantically looked around. There were three men in his room, all dressed entirely in black. Two had knitted ski masks over their faces – the one behind him, holding his arms, and the one going through the desk. The green-eyed man held the cloth, which in another second was pressed firmly back over Sam’s nose and mouth. It was his own dirty boxers, he realized, from the top of his laundry pile. He thought he could taste himself.

What were they going to do to him? How had they gotten into his room, and what did they want? Sam tried to struggle feebly but his limbs were uncooperative, heavy and unfeeling. He was completely helpless.

“Don’t fight it,” said the stranger soothingly, holding him still as Sam ran out of air and was forced to take in another wheezing breath. “Just try to relax, there you go, that’s a good boy.” Unfamiliar hands stroked through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. A thumb traced over his brow.

Sam’s arms were released, but whatever they had drugged him with had left him entirely paralyzed. He could barely blink. Softly, he managed a faint moan of distress.

“Easy, little one.”

The stranger tossed the boxers on the bed. He picked up Sam’s arms one by one, gently rubbed his reddened wrists, and arranged them carefully at his sides.

“Cas, log onto his computer,” he ordered, his fingers closing over to Sam’s pulse, pausing to measure his heart rate. “The password is _Antilles_. Send an email from his account to his employer, quitting his job.”

“On it,” a gruff voice replied.

Sam was horrified to find that he was drooling, unable to fully close his mouth. The stranger bent over him and tenderly wiped his chin with the dirty boxers.

“When you’re done with that, check his calendar and his phone, make sure there’s nothing coming up in the next few weeks. If you find anything, cancel it. Bobby, can you gather some personal items, things he might want?”

A calloused thumb rubbed the back of Sam’s hand. “It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We’re going to take good care of you.” Sam didn’t understand anything that was happening, but the rough caress was strangely soothing.

“When you’re done, Cas, go through the bathroom. Grab his toiletries and do a thorough search. Look for any medications. Then we’ll get him ready for transport.”

Transport to where? What was happening? Sam couldn’t think of why anybody would want to abduct him. His family wasn’t wealthy enough to hold him for ransom, and he was just a lowly computer guy. He couldn’t turn his head, but he could hear the sounds of the masked assistants bustling around his apartment.

“Are you about ready?” asked the green-eyed man, obviously talking to someone in the doorway. “We need to get him prepped.”

“All set,” said someone.

“Alright then, let’s get him taped up.”

Immediately one of the assistants came forward with a wide silver roll. Sam wanted to flail away but it was useless: he couldn’t move a muscle. His wrists were twisted together in front of him and tightly bound, then his ankles, protected by the hems of his pajama bottoms. His feet were hoisted up so they could wrap his thighs above the knee.

“Tape his mouth.”

Sam’s eyes were closed, so he didn’t see who spoke. He tried to turn his face away but in a second, gloved hands were smoothing the duct tape over his cheeks, trapping his muffled screams. Then hands on his shoulders rolled him onto his stomach.

“Alright, gonna give him the sedative now,” said the same voice. The elastic waistband of his pants was tugged down, exposing the fleshy globes of his backside to the cool air. Sam whimpered in fear – _oh, god, not my ass_ – then cried out from the pinch of a needle in his buttock. Neither sound made it through the tape sealed over his mouth.

“Sh, Sammy.” Fingers brushed over Sam’s hair. The green-eyed man pulled his pants back into place for him.

Whatever they injected him with, it worked fast. After only a few seconds Sam felt himself fading out.

Someone leaned over, close to Sam’s ear. “I like you like this, baby,” whispered the green eyed man, patting his butt. “You look good on your belly, trussed up so pretty for me.”

Before he could wrap his head around that, Sam felt his eyes roll back, and everything went dark.

**\--**

At some point Sam began to register motion, the sensation of being lifted and carried. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw himself slung between two men. One was walking backwards with his top half and the other had his legs; his limp, bound body hung between them. They were crossing what looked like Sam’s living room.

“Hold up,” said somebody, just as they got to the door.

Everything sounded like they were speaking underwater. The green-eyed man came forward with a navy blue pillow case that Sam recognized from his own spare set of sheets. He pulled it up over Sam’s face, and everything went black. He felt the hood cinched around his neck.

“Okay,” said a muffled voice. “Hurry up and get him out to the van. We might not have long.”

It was quiet and peaceful under the pillowcase. Sam lost consciousness again at the sound of his own front door slamming closed.

**\--**

The next time he opened his eyes, Sam was in some kind of moving vehicle. His eyelids were heavy, and listlessly he glanced around the cab, taking stock of the situation. His hands were now taped up over his head, but when he smacked his lips he realized that his mouth was free. The skin tingled and he thought he still could feel bits of adhesive at the corner of his lips.

Blearily, he peered around, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

There were other men in the van, naked, with their eyes and mouths taped shut. Other than that, they were bound identically to him, kneeling with their wrists tied to the passenger handles on the roof of what seemed to be a large van. Sam counted five of them, although there could have been more of them up front.

One of them near him was whimpering softly and rocking from side to side. Sam was ashamed to notice, but the other prisoner had a very evident erection.

He managed to turn his head, which felt heavy and off-balance on his neck, and found the green eyed man sitting right next to him, watching his face. Sam blinked.

“You feel sick, baby?” asked the stranger, holding Sam’s glassy, unfocused eyes. Sam didn’t know how to answer. “Is your belly hurting?”

Vaguely, Sam shook his head no.

“That’s my good boy,” said the stranger. “We were worried you might get sick. Can you open your mouth for me, sweetheart?” Sam didn’t move, and after a moment gentle, calloused fingers closed around his chin, gently tugging his jaw open.

“That’s right, nice and wide, there we go.”

Something made of plastic – or maybe rubber – was pressed between Sam’s teeth. He groaned a little in protest, squirming away, but it didn’t seem to help; whatever it was, the thing kept coming, round and solid and filling up his mouth just wide enough to keep his jaw from closing. Then a tight band was fitted across his cheeks.

“Shshsh,” said the stranger, buckling the gag securely behind his head. “This is just to keep you nice and quiet while we take a little trip.”

Sam struggled, grunting behind the gag, but he couldn’t get it loose, and the sounds were trapped behind the ball. A tear that he could barely feel trailed down Sam’s cheek.

“Shh, now,” said the stranger consolingly. “You’ll get used to it, baby.”

He moved behind Sam, and then suddenly Sam’s arms dropped in front of him, heavy with sedation; he looked up and realized the green-eyed man had cut him free with a knife.

A firm arm wrapped around his waist, tugging him back. “C’mere,” said the voice, pulling him into the cradle of a warm lap. His back was propped against the stranger’s chest, his head drawn down to a broad shoulder, where it was settled, too weak to resist. “There we go,” murmured the stranger, rocking gently. “Alright, now, just try to sleep.”

Sam was a big guy, but somehow he felt strangely – _little_ , held like this. He trembled, completely overwhelmed, as hands stroked through his hair and over his cheeks, mindful of the rubber ball in his mouth. The stranger smelled faintly of motor oil and salt, and somehow the offer of comfort was impossible to resist.

Sam let his eyes drop closed and faded out, as the miles rolled away under the wheels below them.

**\--**

Sam woke up lying on his back on some kind of bench, his hands strapped above his head and his feet locked down to the padded surface. The gag was still wedged in his mouth, his jaw aching slightly from the stretch of it.

Dazed, he lifted his head and looked down at himself. He was dressed in some kind of flimsy medical robe – where were his _pants_? – and there were blue fuzzy slipper-socks on his feet. It was a cot he was lying on, with thick leather buckles over his wrists and ankles.

Movement at his side made him look over. The green-eyed man was standing next to him, examining a second set of straps that seemed to be intended for his chest and thighs. Sam gurgled helplessly.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” said the stranger, putting the restraints down. “You feeling any better yet?”

Whatever they had given him, the effects were still very evident. Beyond the weakness in his limbs, which he could barely move anyway, Sam was also feeling fuzzy and vague. He knew he should be panicking, but he couldn’t quite work up the energy.

“That’s good,” said the stranger, patting his arm. “So, now that we’ve got you here, I need to see what we’re dealing with, okay?”

He reached to untie the front of Sam’s robe and smoothly pulled the sides apart, exposing Sam’s entire body. Sam whimpered, ashamed of the sound as soon as it left his throat - but he was so he couldn’t even close his _legs_ ; they were strapped down about shoulder-width apart.

“Easy, now. Just want to get a good look at you, little one.”

The stranger’s eyes moved unhurriedly down Sam’s chest, lingering on the muscles of his abs, and took a good look at his limp cock, which was resting against his thigh. “Or not so little, maybe I should say?” he teased gently.

Sam turned his face away, unable to answer. The drug kept him calmed down, but he still knew everything that was happening to him, and it was humiliating to be so blatantly examined.

“I think he’s ready,” the stranger called out, and Sam opened his eyes to see who he was talking to.

There was a woman in a white uniform coming forward, and the shape of other people behind her. Sam moaned softly, but there was nothing he could do.

“Gonna be okay, sweetheart,” said the stranger.

His hand stroked up and down Sam’s shoulder, warming the goose-pimpled skin. Sam wished that he would close the gown in front of the others, but he didn’t.

“Hey Dean,” said the woman. Sam blinked; was Dean the name of the green-eyed man? “Is this him?”

“Yeah, this is Sammy. He’s a little shy at the moment.”

“That’s alright, dear,” said the woman kindly. “There’s no reason to be afraid.”

Sam retained his doubts. Also, nobody ever called him _Sammy_.

“I think he should wear the blindfold for this,” the stranger – _Dean?_ – added in an undertone. “I don’t want him getting too upset.”

“Oh, sure thing. Here you go.” She handed over a fleece-lined strip of black fabric and Sam squirmed, not wanting to lose any more autonomy.

“Hush,” said Dean. Sam clung to the name. “Come here, baby.”

He slid one hand behind Sam’s limp neck to support his heavy head, lifting him an inch from the table. Then he wrapped the strap securely over Sam’s eyes, blocking every hint of light. Sam felt him fasten the back with what might have been a Velcro closure – something that left no uncomfortable lump when his head was lowered back down.

“Just rest, sweetheart, I know you’re tired,” said Dean’s soothing voice, as someone squeezed his hand. “That should help,” he added, clearly speaking to someone else. “I’m worried he might find this all a little upsetting.”

The cot Sam was laying on started to move, and Sam realized it was some kind of a wheeled table, like a gurney. He felt himself rolled along, with no way of knowing where he was being taken. He was excruciatingly aware of his nakedness – the light breeze between his legs didn’t let him forget – but he had no idea who might be watching.

“Here we are,” said a cheerful, feminine voice after a mercifully short trip. Sam took a deep breath, inhaling a tangy, metallic odor. “Now, what are we doing today?”

“Just a light cleaning, and he needs all his body hair removed,” said Dean, “but use the extra gentle formula lotion. He’s got very sensitive skin.”

_How the hell had he known that?_ Sam wondered. It was true.

Then he moaned as slick hands started stroking over his arms and legs, spreading some kind of cream all over his skin. He couldn’t even tell how many there were. He thought he could feel the texture of rubber gloves under the lotion. His armpits, his chest - then his legs were unbuckled one at a time while they were coated, mindful of his slippered feet. Sam was still inhibited by the drugs in his system and couldn’t manage to kick. Instead he drifted, fading in and out as his limbs were manipulated into place.

“Being so good for me, sweetheart,” Dean whispered.

Sam was able to keep relatively calm until the gloved hands spread his legs and began working the lotion up over his groin, and between the cheeks of his ass. Then he struggled to pull away, grunting through his gag.

“Shh, baby,” said Dean’s voice, sounding close to his ear. “I know, shshsh.” A strong hand pressed his head down to the padded table, holding him still as somebody’s gloved finger rubbed around over his anus. “Almost done, shsh, almost.”

Sam twitched helplessly, all of his attention fixed on the presence at his shoulder. Dean was stroking his hair, muttering peaceful nonsense.

Then the gloved hands moved away, and Sam laid, helpless, his legs still open.

“Good job, sweetheart. All done with that.”

Warm water streamed down from what must have been a sprayer, over his tingling limbs and his bare chest.

“I’ll do his hair later,” he heard Dean say. “And I’ll – you know, finish cleaning him up.”

“Alright, then I think you’re all set here,” said the woman’s voice.

“Thanks, Jodi. Can I get the room for a minute?”

Equipment clattered as it was put away, and Sam strained to hear the low chatter of women, slowly moving off. There was silence.

“Come here now, gonna take this off.” Rough hands fumbled in his hair, and the blindfold was removed. Sam blinked around, dazed, until the Dean guided his chin up to meet his eyes. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said, petting his cheek.

Sam lifted his head and stared stupidly down at himself, naked and hairless like a child. They had only left a patch at the base of his cock – even his balls were smooth and pink.

He moaned as he felt the sprayer directed back over his groin, then right between the cheeks of his ass.

“Looking so pretty here,” said Dean, holding him open. “Can you spread your legs for me?”

Sam didn’t know why he asked. One of his legs was still cuffed to the cot, and Dean had the other ankle in a firm grasp. It wasn’t like he could willingly comply, or resist. Still, he tensed as much as he could while Dean guided his free leg up – only to end up with his knee bent, flat-footed on the table. He was aware that absolutely _everything_ was exposed.

“Just going to clean your bottom for you,” Dean murmured.

He indicated a variety of bottles lined up on the edge of the cot, which Sam stared at blankly. Then he squirted what Sam assumed was soap into his hands, and worked it into a rich lather.

Sam could only moan as warm, slick fingers soaped up his ass crack, moving up to the base of his balls and then back down to his hole. Before he knew what was happening, he felt what felt like one soapy pinkie finger slide inside him, quickly plunging it in and out a couple times as he thrashed weakly.

Sam had played around with his ass before, but only using his own fingertips, not even as deep as this one finger worming sloppily back inside him. Christ, it felt _weird_ … but Dean was evidently being careful not to hurt him. It wasn’t really painful – just the slightest burn and a tantalizing little stretch.

“Does that feel good?” Dean hummed. “Gonna flush you out, hold on a second.”

The finger pulled out and the sprayer was aimed at his soapy hole, as Sam clenched with the shock of it, grunting softly. It was _so wrong_ , but the rush of warm water inside him made his cock twitch.

“That’s my good boy, there we go, all done,” said Dean, wiping the water away with his hand. The drops beaded on the rubber surface of the gourney. “Nice and clean.”

Easily he fitted the restraints back around Sam’s ankle, then tied the damp gown closed again. He used a hand towel to blot the rest of Sam’s tingling skin.

“Alright, sweetheart, whenever they’re ready for you we’ll get a quick checkup, and then you can get some sleep,” he said.

A _checkup?_ Sam’s eyes flew wide open as the door handle turned. As though Dean had summoned him there, a man white coat appeared in the doorway.

“Is that my three o’clock?” he asked, glancing disinterestedly at Sam.

“Yeah, I think so,” said Dean. “Sam Wesson. Listen, do you think we can be quick about this? He’s had a really long day already.”

“Well, I’ll certainly do my best,” said the man in the coat, motioning to an orderly that appeared behind him. “Bring him this way, please.”

The orderly wheeled Sam, who was gurgling behind his gag and being entirely ignored, through the doorframe and into what looked like a medical exam room – complete with a variety of intimidating machines. The room was freezing cold.

The gurney was set up in the center of the room, and then Sam’s arms were released from the straps that held them above his head. He didn’t get much of a chance to relax, though – within a few seconds, the orderly buckled his wrists to a set of perpendicular restraints, so that he was lying outstretched, like a bug under a microscope. The orderly pulled the straps too tight.

“Male subject, 25-29 years of age, natural submissive,” the doctor was muttering. Sam realized after a beat that he was speaking into a recorder. “Well, he’s a beautiful animal,” he said, wheeling over some trays. “Really, a top-notch specimen, Dean.”

“Thanks,” said Dean, sounding proud. “I can’t wait to show everyone what he can do.”

  
"Alright. I just need to do the standard exam today,” said the doctor. “Do you think he’ll cooperate?”  
  
Sam felt fingers checking the restraints at his wrists, loosening them slightly. “Not at this stage, no,” said Dean. “This is all too new for him.”  
  
“Okay, well why don’t you keep an eye on him while I get to work?”  
  
Dean came to stand at Sam’s head, one hand resting gently on his forehead. “Would you like the blindfold again, baby?” he whispered.  
  
Sam had his eyes closed, but he shook his head no. He wasn’t going to voluntarily give up any of his freedoms.  
  
“Ok then, doc, how do you want him?”  
  
“Let’s start with him on his back like this,” said the doctor, “and I’ll let you know if we need to change.” Gentle hands unbuckled the gag from Sam’s mouth and pulled it free. Immediately, gloved fingers slipped between his teeth, holding his jaw open, and Sam whined as something smooth and flat slid in over his tongue.  
  
“Good teeth,” the doctor commented, “nice healthy color here in the mouth.”  
  
Sam was really coming to hate being talked about as if he wasn’t in the room.  
  
The doctor made a note on a clipboard. “I suspect we’ll need his head restrained, to continue?”  
  
Sam’s eyes were still clenched tightly shut, but they flew open when something obtrusive was slipped into his mouth. It felt like a flat circle, stretching his jaw wider to accommodate it.  
  
“Just for a little while,” Dean soothed, pressing him down. “I know, I know, shshsh.”  
  
The sides of the gag locked down to the surface of the table so Sam couldn’t move his head at all. The restraints on his wrists and ankles forced him still, unable to do anything other than lie there with his mouth open. “Don’t fight it, baby,” said Dean. “Keep calm and relax for me, do you think you can do that?”  
  
The doctor approached with a needle-less syringe. “Just a vitamin supplement and an immuno-booster,” he said, squirting the syringe into Sam’s mouth and briskly massaging his throat.  
  
He couldn’t help swallowing; it tasted sweet.  
  
The doctor slid the tongue depressor through the ring, pressing it forwards without warning to prod at the back of Sam’s throat. Sam choked, his body convulsing against the restraints. “I think you’ll have your work cut out for you there,” he commented dryly.  
  
“Easy, baby, shh.” Dean patted Sam’s chest.  
  
Sam moaned, feeling saliva slide down his chin from his held-open mouth.  
  
“Here, this should help,” Dean whispered, sliding some sort of short rubber plug through the ring of Sam’s gag. Strangely enough, it did help; it kept him from drooling and gave his teeth something to grip.  
  
The doctor briefly examined his ears, his nose, and the lymph nodes under his neck. They took his pulse, listened to his lungs, measured his temperature with a forehead reader, and drew a measure of blood from his arm. Dean smoothed a bandage over the tiny injury.  
  
The doctor’s hands moved down, reaching inside the open neck of the gown. “Good sensitivity in the nipples,” he said, pinching one and watching it harden. “He’s looking good. Maybe a little underweight, for his height.”  
  
Then the gown was folded up around Sam’s hips.  
  
“Did you want photos?” asked the doctor, disinterestedly.  
  
“Just the standard set,” said Dean. “The sessions are all recorded anyway, right?”  
  
“Yes, but it’s nice to have some close-ups. Bring that table camera over here too, would you?”  
  
One by one, Sam’s feet were lifted and buckled into a set of silver stirrups, which were spread wide apart. Sam peered helplessly down at himself, the stupid footie socks in the metal fetters.  
  
The doctor drew over a bright light to illuminate his exposed cock, balls, and asshole. “There’s the money shot,” he said, jovially.  
  
Sam’s dick was examined thoroughly, then his testicles. It seemed like the doctor was checking for any irregularity, running his gloved finger tips carefully over the organs. He took a sample from the dribbling tip of Sam's penis with a cotton swab. Sam couldn’t squirm, could hardly move at all.  
  
“No problems here,” the doctor pronounced finally. “Let’s move on, shall we?”  
  
He adjusted the height and position of the stirrups, drawing Sam’s knees back towards his chest. He could feel it as the tight ring of his anus was exposed to the light. If there was anything worse than being strapped down on his back with his legs spread wide, Sam thought, it was the whirring and clicking of the camera equipment as it moved between his legs.  
  
He kept his eyes tight shut and wished for Dean’s hand back on his forehead.  
  
“You’re okay, sweetheart,” said Dean. “You’re alright.”  
  
“He looks great,” said the doctor, pulling up a stool.  
  
“He’s been cleaned,” said Dean, and the doctor grunted in acknowledgment.  
  
“Subject was recruited from his home this morning by a retrieval team, for his own protection,” said the doctor, presumably into the recorder again.  
  
Sam blinked. What the hell did any of that mean?  
  
“Presumably the anus is virgin,” he continued. “We’ll be testing now for sensitivity and general health of the rectum.”  
  
One slick finger traced over his entrance and Sam would have thrashed if he could move. A pause, then a wet squish of liquid. At least there was a lot of lube involved. Then he felt cool, clinical hands press back the cheeks of his ass. He managed a strangled moan as something rubbery insinuated itself against his hole.  
  
“He’s just making sure you’re nice and healthy inside,” Dean soothed. “You can take it, baby, it’s just one finger.”  
  
“Two fingers,” said the doctor blandly.  
  
“Just relax, sweetheart. I know you can do it.”  
  
The doctor’s fingers pressed firmly against his rim. “Take a nice, deep breath, Sub,” he said calmly, “and let it out.” Then Sam felt a pressure in his asshole, and groaned as something solid pushed past the resistance of his entrance. It didn’t feel as good as Dean’s finger had felt. It was cold, and impersonal. Sam moaned, trying to strain away from the intrusion, but it followed him easily, slithering further in.  
  
“He’s taking this beautifully,” said the doctor. “Nice, supple anus, quite snug here against my fingers.”  
  
Dean squeezed Sam’s hand as the doctor probed around inside him, feeling along his tense inner walls. Sam had never been examined this way before, and he couldn’t believe Dean was casually watching as he was forced to take it up the ass right here in front of him.  
  
“Push back against me,” directed the doctor.  
  
“Go on baby, better get it over with,” Dean advised.  
  
Without another option, Sam did as instructed, and the fingers slid in a little further. It felt as though he was taking a crap or something – in public.  
  
“Good muscle tone,” the doctor commented. “Now, clench down around my fingers. Good, again, clench.”  
  
Beyond humiliated, Sam forced himself to comply, wanting more than anything to get this over with.  
  
“He’s going to feel lovely for somebody,” said the doctor approvingly. “Let’s see if we can find a prostate, hmm?”  
  
That was all the warning Sam got before his vision whited out, a strangled moan escaping the gag as his hips jerked rhythmically against that pressure inside of him.  
  
“Look at that,” said the doctor, sounding pleased.  
  
“Beautiful,” Dean agreed, his voice warm. “Could he come like that, do you think?”  
  
“I wouldn’t be surprised, although many subs require another form of stimulation. But he does seem to be very sensitive, doesn’t he.” The doctor was prodding irregularly at that place, watching Sam convulse with each pass. “Do you want me to get the anal speculum? We could get some light up there, really have a good look around.”  
  
“No, thanks,” said Dean, “I don’t really want to traumatize him the first time.”  
  
Sam sobbed in relief.  
  
“Okay. You’ve been a good patient, Sub,” said the doctor, extracting his fingers as Sam moaned. He patted Sam's naked thigh as he lowered the stirrups. “One last thing to take care of, and we’ll be done for the day. Dean, did you want to handle this?”  
  
“Thank you,” said Dean. “Can we get him on his stomach, though? It might make it a little easier for him.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
One by one they unhooked the restraints from the table, even the straps of the gag, which were buckled tightly behind his head instead. Even once he was free, Sam found that he was still too weak to do more than twitch feebly. He was sat up, Dean’s arms under his, then pulled to his feet and turned to slump face-down on the padded surface of the exam bench. He whimpered softly, and Dean shushed him with a hand on the back of his neck.  
  
“All set?” said the doctor.  
  
“Give him a second to find his feet.” Dean’s knee pushed between Sam’s legs, setting him up so he was braced better.  
  
Then the back of his gown was flipped up, baring his backside.  
  
“If he’s not used to wearing anything, this is a good place to start.” The doctor brought some kind of thin plastic cylinder over for Dean’s inspection. “We can see how he tolerates it and go from there.”  
  
“Sounds good.” Dean brought the toy around for Sam to see it up close. It was white, about as big around as a tampon, with a blunt nose and a flared base. “This is going to go up your bottom, okay baby?” Sam’s muffled cries were intended to communicate that this was NOT okay with him, but Dean didn’t pay any mind. “We need to get you plugged up for the night,” he maintained calmly. “It might feel a little funny at first, but it’s not going to hurt you; it’s not much bigger than a finger, and you took two of those just fine.”  
  
Dean handed the toy back to the doctor, and moved back between Sam’s thighs. “Spread wide, sweetheart,” he said. As if Sam could do otherwise, positioned as he was; Dean’s hand on his lower back, forcing him down, Dean’s bracketing knees between his own.  
  
“He’s already nice and slick, and with the muscles relaxed this should be no problem,” said the doctor. “Go ahead, whenever you’re ready.”  
  
Sam felt something hard and unforgiving sliding up inside him, nudging its way deep into his ass. He moaned, unable to do anything but accept being sodomized on camera. Dean rubbed the base of his spine as he squirmed, wanting it _out_ \- but the pressure continued, moving slowly upwards, until it was fully seated as deep inside him as it could go. Sam clenched down around the unfamiliar intrusion, which shifted perilously close to that place inside of him that made the world white out. It felt – strange. Invasive. He couldn’t forget for even a second that there was something lodged up there, forcing him open. He was pretty sure he hated it.  
  
“Subject is evidently capable of achieving and sustaining an erection,” the doctor murmured, presumably into his microphone.  
  
Dean patted Sam’s backside affectionately, and moved back. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked.  
  
“Dean? Sir?”  
  
Sam twisted around in a panic; the voice was unfamiliar, and he hadn’t known anyone else was watching. He was too weak and clumsy to turn properly, and would have fallen but that Dean grabbed his shoulders and forced him back down to the table. Sam fought at the sensation of a warm groin pressed against his naked backside – but his hands were easily caught and twisted together, held crossed at the small of his back, and he was pinned.  
  
“Easy, little one,” Dean directed. “What is it, Cas?”  
  
Sam managed to twist his head to look at the small, dark-haired man hesitating in the doorway. Dean paused to tug Sam’s gown down from where it was rucked up around his hips. It made Sam feel a little better, to be covered in the presence of this stranger.  
  
“I’m sorry, Sir,” said the new man, his soft voice gravelly. Sam thought maybe he recognized it from the night he’d been abducted. “The council is looking for Sam Wesson, whenever he’s ready?”  
  
“No, that can’t be right. He’s not supposed to go up until tomorrow morning.”  
  
Dean was rubbing one hand up and down over Sam’s spine, trying to make him relax - deep, forceful strokes, the kind you would use on a fidgety animal, like a horse or a big dog. Sam was disgruntled to notice that it kinda worked.  
  
“They must have had a cancellation,” said the man, sounding apologetic. “They’re ready for him right away.”  
  
“But … Sam’s pretty tired,” said Dean, doubtfully. “He should probably get some rest. Doc, you want to weigh in here?”  
  
The doctor was washing his hands, having already disposed of the rubber gloves. “Do it now,” he advised. “One more hour tonight isn’t going to make a difference.”  
  
“I dunno,” said Dean. He was still absentmindedly rubbing Sam’s back.  
  
The stranger – Cas – sounded upset. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll just – I’ll tell them to wait until tomorrow?”  
  
Apparently Dean registered the other man’s distress. “Hey, I’m sorry, angel. It’s okay. Maybe Sam’s up for one more adventure, huh?” Taking a firm grip on the hair at the back of Sam’s neck, he forced his head up, peering into his face. “Whattaya say, sweetheart. You want to get it all over with at once?”  
  
Sam didn’t know what he wanted, and anyway his mouth was still stuffed with plastic. He couldn’t even nod or shake his head; Dean was holding his hair too tight. Dean studied his expression for a long time, then affectionately patted his cheek.  
  
“You heard the man, Cas,” said Dean. “Sam’s in. Come over here and help me with him, and we’ll go.”

  


  
They brought around a wheelchair that had been folded up behind the door, and Sam was forced down into it. He gurgled as the seat jolted the plug in his ass, and Dean chuckled, holding him down as Cas strapped him in. His arms were trapped by a wide buckle across his chest, and his feet were guided carefully into the footrests and then strapped down as well.  
  
Dean squeezed his shoulder, and then he was wheeled down a series of hallways, each one deserted and dark.  
  
Sam’s mind was spinning, finally beginning to recover from the effects of the sedative, at least mentally. But no matter how he turned it over in his mind, he still couldn’t understand what these strangers could possibly want with him.  
  
Who abducted somebody, just to give them a medical exam? Just to stuff things up his ass? Why him, why any of this?  
  
“I think his brain is cooking, Cas,” said Dean, ruffling Sam’s hair. “You don’t need to worry, sweetheart. All you need to know right now is that I’m going to take care of you.”  
  
Finally they turned a corner and reached a doorway where several men were lingering, dressed entirely in black. They saluted Dean. “Is this the new sub?” asked one, looking Sam over.  
  
“This is Sam Wesson,” said Dean. He sounded almost proud.  
  
One of the men made quick work of the straps binding him into the wheelchair, and then Sam was hauled to his feet. Immediately he was taken by the arms, one man on each side of him. It must have been an effort for them to keep him upright, as his knees were quick to give out, and he was a good head taller than any of them. But they kept a tight grip on him and half-dragged him to the door.  
  
“I’m right here, baby, you’re okay,” Dean soothed, keeping pace with them.  
  
The room was large, and dark. Sam heard the murmur of voices speaking low, and was conscious of many eyes on him. He wished the gown he was wearing wasn’t so short. He tried futilely to tug against the hands that gripped him, but to no avail.  
  
“Behave yourself, Sub,” said one of the guards, shoving him along.  
  
“Easy,” said Dean at once.  
  
“Yessir.”  
  
In the center of the room was a raised, lit stage, and the strong men dragged Sam towards it. They lifted him bodily up the few steps, his kicking feet barely touching the ground, and then he was hauled towards what appeared to be some kind of seat. Maybe more like a throne.  
  
Instinctively, Sam looked to Dean, who was talking quietly to a grey-haired man on the meeting room floor. But his eyes were watching Sam, and he nodded reassuringly, so Sam allowed the guards to press him down into the chair. They clasped two thick leather cuffs around his wrists, which he realized were attached by long chains to the base of the seat. Clearly he wouldn’t be getting up until somebody released him.  
  
Then a spotlight came up on the stage, right in his eyes, so he couldn’t see anything beyond the edge of the platform.  
  
“If we’re ready to begin?” said a cool, feminine voice.  
  
A man’s voice answered, sounding bored. “Case number three hundred and seventeen,” he pronounced.  
  
“Who will present this sub to the council?”  
  
Sam’s heart leapt when Dean cleared his throat, off in the darkness – somehow Sam could identify him just by that sound. “I guess that’s my cue,” said Dean amiably. There was the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs, and then a tall shadow leaned over Sam. “S’gonna be alright, baby,” he whispered. A hand brushed over Sam’s forehead.  
  
“This is Sam Wesson, 26,” began Dean, confidently. “He’s worked in tech support at Sandover Bridge  & Iron for the past three years. Formerly he was registered at Stanford University, but he dropped out of the program in his final year."  
  
Sam squirmed. This was true, but he didn’t like to hear it announced to everyone. Still, with his mouth stretched around the ring gag, and his tongue pinned down by the plug, he could hardly offer an intelligible protest.  
  
It got worse: "According to our extensive research, including interviews with each of his sexual partners, Sam is virgin, anally. The doc confirmed it.”  
  
 _Interviews with his sexual partners?_ Dean probably didn't mean that _literally_ , right? That was probably some kind of joke?  
  
Dean had continued without interruption. “As you know, natural submissives are vulnerable to a variety of emotional problems, with symptoms ranging from personal neglect to outright self-harm. Sam here was identified by our computer’s algorithm as extremely high-risk. We’ve been worried for some time that he’s been showing signs of depression.”  
  
What the hell was this term that everybody kept using, _natural submissive_? Sam had no idea what it meant. He certainly didn’t know why everyone said that he _was_ one. And what depression? Okay, maybe he hadn’t been hungry lately, maybe he hadn’t been taking the best care of himself, but - how had they known that, anyway?  
  
“How many submissives were identified by the computer this cycle?” the woman’s voice inquired.  
  
“Six,” said Dean. “Four were determined to be in healthy conditions in the wild. We lost the fifth before an extraction team could be assembled. Overdose.” Dean's voice was sober.  
  
“Last week Sam lost five pounds in as many days, and we knew we had hit a tipping point. We had to act to protect the sub. He was collared last night by my team.” Dean paused, his eyes on Sam’s face. “I’ve had the opportunity to observe Sam for the past 48 hours. Despite his intimidating size, Sam is very sweet and naturally willing to please.” He reached out one finger to stroke back Sam’s bangs. “Like all subs he requires firm handling, but unlike some of the others here, he responds better to a gentle touch.”  
  
Sam flushed to hear himself described so. It wasn’t really how he thought of himself – he was a big, tough guy. Wasn’t he? And anyway, what the hell? They talked as though he had been _rescued_ , but he’d been gagged and bound for every second since he’d arrived here, and that didn’t suggest protection to him.  
  
“At the moment, Sam is being kept here at the Facility until he can learn to accept his submissive nature," Dean concluded. “So, that’s the current status of his case.”  
  
There was a respectful silence, and then the same woman’s voice cut through the echoing room, clear and cold. “Do you have a nomination for Samuel’s trainer?”  
  
Sam didn’t know what they were talking about, but he could tell from the tone that it was important, and held his breath waiting for Dean’s answer.  
  
“I would like to train this sub myself,” said Dean, sounding perfectly calm. “If the council will permit it.”  
  
There was a murmur of interest.  
  
“It’s been a while since you took on a training,” said the first man, neutrally. He had a shrewd voice and close-set, weaselly eyes.  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Sam could hear low conversation as the council, whoever they were, conferred. “Well, I think we can all agree that Samuel is a very lucky sub,” said the woman finally. Her voice was approving. “You can take him back to his room now, but we’d like to be updated on his progress.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” said Dean. Sam felt himself released from the cuffs of the chair, and in the next second he was being gently pulled upright. With the lights now directly in his eyes, he could see nothing. “Alright, sweetheart,” said Dean, his voice low and soothing, “let’s get you out of here, okay?”  
  
Sam didn’t know what was had happened, or what was going on, but he knew that he wanted to go with Dean more than he wanted to stay in that creepy room with the terrible council. Willingly, he dragged his sluggish body up out of the chair and moved at the direction of Dean’s hand on his shoulder, leaning on him heavily as they moved down the steps and across the floor, until they passed through the entryway and he heard the heavy slam of the door closing behind them.  
  
His legs seemed to be recovering, but he still felt faint and weak, and he couldn’t lift his arms at all. Sam hobbled along as Dean led him down a different series of corridors, each step sending a twinge up his ass from the plug. He made himself focus on keeping up with Dean, following his broad shoulders down the hall, because if he thought too much about what was happening he’d probably start screaming.  
  
Finally, Dean turned a corner and led him through what appeared to be a dark dormitory, lined with cots. Sam could tell there were people lying in some of them, and thought he could hear muffled moaning, but Dean hustled him through a door in the back and into a private room, with one cot pushed up against the wall.  
  
“Sit on the bed, sweetheart,” said Dean.  
  
Dazedly, Sam sat.  
  
Dean went to a back room and rattled around for a second, then came back with a basin and a covered tray.  
  
“You probably have lots of questions,” he said, “but I want you to save them until tomorrow, okay? You need to rest. I know you’re exhausted. He slid a finger under the strap of Sam’s gag. “Do you want me to take this out? I will, if you promise to behave yourself for me.”  
  
Sam hesitated. He didn’t really want to cooperate with his captors, but he fervently wanted his mouth free. Slowly, he nodded.  
  
“Okay, good boy. Head down.” Sam let his head be guided so that Dean could reach the buckle at the back, free hand holding the plastic piece in place even after the strap came lose. “Hold still, gonna get this off,” said Dean. Then he lifted Sam’s chin, and gently pulled the whole thing out of his mouth. “There you go, good boy, here,” said Dean, smoothing a hot towel over Sam’s jaw, soothing the ache. Sam moaned in pleasure. “Don’t talk. Feels good, huh baby?”  
  
“M’not a baby,” Sam rasped. It was the first thing he’d managed to say since he’d been abducted.  
  
Dean didn’t answer, bringing the cloth up to gently wipe Sam’s cheeks, which were stained with tears. Then he tipped Sam’s face up to wipe down his sweaty neck. It felt amazing – but, when he was finished, he eased Sam’s jaw open and slipped the cloth deep into his mouth, silencing him again.  
  
“It’s not your decision what you’re called,” Dean corrected him gently. “Now, lie back for me like a good boy.” He pulled the top sheet of the bed, revealing a set of canvass four-point restraints, like the kind found in a mental hospital.  
  
Sam grunted, reaching up at once to pull the cloth out, but Dean quickly caught his hands and held them in his lap. Sam knew he should fight, kick out, maybe try to struggle. But Dean’s fingers felt like iron around his wrists, and within himself he could feel the deep well of exhaustion. The drugs were still his system, and he was confused and overwhelmed. He wasn’t going to be able to get away - not tonight.  
  
So instead, out of options, he allowed himself to be laid back in the bed. He kept still as Dean leaned over him, buckling his wrists down to the cot. The restraints were well padded, soft around Sam’s wrists. Secure, but not uncomfortable.  
  
“It’s not ‘baby,’ like, something helpless or immature,” said Dean, guiding Sam’s ankle into position and wrapping the straps around it. Sam’s arms were at his sides, his feet almost together. Dean adjusted the straps to spread them a little wider. “It’s baby, like, _my baby_ , you know - precious, my boy to take care of. My baby.” He checked the tension of the other foot. “There. Okay? I’m going to take that out of your mouth now. It’ll go back in if you can’t behave.”  
  
He reached to gently tug the washcloth out from between Sam’s teeth, and Sam didn’t ever bother trying to speak again. He felt completely out of energy, limp as a doll. Dean nodded, sliding his other hand under Sam’s neck and lifting it to receive the glass of water he pressed to Sam’s lips.  
  
“Drink all this sweetheart, I know you’re thirsty, saw you sucking on that rag.”  
  
It was true - Sam was parched. Obediently, he accepted a mouthful of water, savoring it, and swallowed. Then he drank deeply and finished the glass.  
  
Dean set the empty cup aside. “That’s a good boy,” he said, stroking Sam’s hair back out of his eyes. “You ready to sleep? You need to get some rest. Or if you like, I could give you something to help? I don’t usually like to drug subs - I think it delays their acceptance of the situation - but I know you have trouble sleeping. ”  
  
Sam shook his head no – the last thing he wanted was any more drugs. Thankfully, Dean seemed to accept his answer.  
  
“Okay, sweetheart. Just try to relax.” Dean pulled a thin sheet over his body, tucking it carefully down around the edges. Just as Dean reached for the light switch, they heard the squeak of the door as it swung open. Sam turned his head to see an orderly dressed all in white, wheeling one of the cots from the other room. There was a man in the bed, strapped down in restraints just like Sam. From the uncomfortable way he was shifting, it looked like he was also wearing a plug in his ass.  
  
Unlike Sam, his face was entirely covered. He had a thick red ball gag in his mouth, an industrial blindfold tightly strapped over his eyes, and what looked like earplugs stuffed in his ears. Sam didn’t know why he was so lucky as to have his head free, but he was grateful; he had no idea how the other man was going to sleep like that.  
  
“Put him behind the curtain,” said Dean. “Sam, I said go to sleep. Otherwise you get the sedative.”  
  
Sam quickly closed his eyes, but he didn’t drop off. He heard the orderly leave, heard muffled grunts from the man on the cot that slowly petered out – he wondered if Dean had used the drugs on the stranger. He sensed the room darken from behind closed eyelids.  
  
It was difficult to sleep, locked down on the bed; Sam was used to rolling around to get comfortable. He usually slept on his side, curled around a pillow, but in the medical restraints he’d been forced to lie flat, and he was stiff. The aching stretch of the plug in his ass distracted him any time he started to doze. The room was dark and silent, and he was beyond exhausted, but he just couldn’t drift off. He twisted in the restraints, hissing softly in frustration.  
  
He heard Dean move closer to the bed. “You need some help, sweetheart?” he whispered, and Sam flinched. “No no, shh, here, we can do this the all-natural way.”  
  
Sam felt the sheet pulled back, and a strong hand rubbed over his thighs, soothing and warm. He whined, not sure what he was feeling.  
  
“It’s okay, baby,” said Dean quietly. “I gotcha, I gotcha.”  
  
Sam couldn’t move his feet, but his knees were gently nudged apart, as far as they could stretch, and the hands slid between them, sliding upwards. “Just relax for me,” Dean whispered.  
  
Dean held his legs open and Sam groaned, struggling against the restraints. “You’re going to like this, baby,” said Dean, gently. “Gonna help you get to sleep.”  
  
Sam managed to groan, wanting to tell Dean to _stop_ but not quite able to talk intelligibly, somehow.  
  
“Shshsh. I know. You can barely move, can you? Nothing for you to do but lie there, all spread out for me, and take it.”  
  
One hand slid up over Sam’s abdomen, resting possessively over his belly, and the other inched up the crack of his ass, fingers sliding up to find the stretched hole sucking at the base of the plug. It was dark, and Sam closed his eyes, feeling fingertips trace over his smooth, soft skin.  
  
“You have no idea how special you are, do you?” said Dean, almost talking to himself. “So precious.” He pressed the plastic plug gently forward, and it rubbed against the sensitive walls of Sam’s ass. Sam moaned and squirmed in his restraints, but Dean’s other hand held him down easily. “You don’t even know _what_ you are, not yet.”  
  
Dean’s hands were sure and confident.  
  
“My friend Ash invented a computer program, just to find people like you – natural submissives, living with no training in the environment. People who need someone to tell them what to do. DMV records, official transcripts, even traffic cameras – we can sort through all of it with the click of a button, looking for the right person. That’s how we found you, baby.”  
  
Sam was listening, embarrassed by the sound of his own heavy breathing. His arms and legs ached from the stretch, but his ass was clenching around the plug shoved up inside him. The hand on Sam’s stomach moved lower.  
  
“Gonna teach you to come just from your bottom next time,” said Dean, cupping Sam’s balls. “But like this, for now.”  
  
He took a good hold of Sam’s cock and jacked it a few times. Surprisingly Sam was half-hard already, although he hadn’t noticed until that moment.  
  
“ _Don’t_ ,” Sam begged, his voice almost breaking as fingers found their way back to his hole.  
  
“Shh, baby, almost done. You need this so bad, don’t you?” Dean turned the base of the plug in a slow circle, and the _thing_ in Sam began to vibrate, buzzing like an angry bee, sending his whole body humming. Sam screamed, writhing against the straps that held him down, but he couldn’t get away from the thrumming of the toy in his ass.  
  
Dean picked up the pace on his cock, squeezing on every upstroke, and Sam instinctively thrust upwards into his hands, his whole body a mess of confusion and contradictory signals.  
  
“That’s it, there you go. Just give it up for me, sweetheart.”  
  
Sam was close.  
  
“Come on, baby boy, wanna see it.” Dean thumbed his slit, rubbing just underneath the dribbling head. “ **Now** , Sam.”  
  
Sam came all over himself, every muscle locking up as his hips pumped uselessly, rhythmically, for what seemed like hours. Dean stroked him through it, until the last pulse spattered over Sam’s naked thighs.  
  
Immediately afterwards, Sam’s body went loose, his eyelids heavy. Dean turned off the toy, but left it buried where it was. He wiped Sam down with a damp cloth, then pulled up the sheet, covering him warmly.  
  
“Now. Go to sleep,” he directed.  
  
Sam obeyed as if his eyes were glued shut.  
  
Twice in the night, Sam was awakened by what he thought was the shape of a man, leaning over him; the presence wasn’t threatening, but it was watchful. He felt fingers checking the tension on the restraints, adjusting a strap that had ridden up his arm. His hands were carefully rearranged in a more natural position at his side. Once the blanket, which had slipped down in the night, was pulled back up over his chest. Sam might have tried to pull away, if he could have, but the hand drifted immediately to his hair, stroking over the greasy strands.  
  
“Shh, baby,” said a soft voice. “You’re alright. Go back to sleep.”  
  
Sam felt himself dozing off again.  
  
“That’s right,” Dean whispered. “You sleep, sweetheart. Need you to be well-rested for tomorrow, when we start your training for real. Gonna be another big day.”  
  
 **(TBC)**


	2. Collared

 

 

  
 Sam awoke to the smell of citrus.  
  
With some effort, he managed to turn his head and was greeted by the sight of Dean, sitting in the chair next to the bed, eating an orange. The curtain was drawn back, and the cot where the other prisoner had been strapped down was empty. They were alone.  
  
“Where’s the other guy?” Sam croaked, trying to stretch and wincing when he couldn't.  
  
“Morning, baby,” said Dean, smiling. “The rest of them are getting their mouths and asses washed before playtime,” – Sam remembered the dormitory full of beds – “but I thought I’d let you sleep in. Your bottom’s already nice and clean for me, huh?”  
  
Sam didn't comment on that. Instead, he risked another question that had been on his mind since he’s arrived. “Who are they, the others? Were they all kidnapped, like me?” He watched Dean’s face to see if he reacted to the choice of words, but there wasn’t a flicker in his expression.  
  
“Nope. Everyone else is a volunteer - they came here to the Facility, _desperate_ to be trained properly.”  
  
“What? Why? Why would anybody do that?”  
  
“You’ll see, someday, baby.” Dean peeled back the skin of the orange and selected another quarter. “You thirsty?” he asked. “Would you like a piece?”  
  
Sam’s mouth was desperately dry; he nodded.  
  
“That’s good, sweetheart, open for me,” said Dean. He brought a tender slice to Sam’s lips. But Sam refused to be fed by hand like an invalid. Mutely, he turned his face away. “Ah-ah," warned Dean. "You take it from me, or you don’t get any.”  
  
“Please –” Sam managed to say, his voice gravelly. “Just unlock my hands – “  
  
“I can’t do that, baby, it’s not time yet.” Dean sounded sad, as though it was sufficient explanation, just to say it _wasn’t time_. “But look at this nice fruit I have for you here. I bet your mouth is dry. Will you let me give you some? Hmm?" Dean brought back another piece, offering it up just a few inches from Sam’s mouth. “Please, baby, eat some for me.”  
  
Sam could smell the orange, and it smelled so fresh and juicy ... and he was so parched ... reluctantly, he allowed his lips to part, accepting the fruit from Dean’s fingers.  
  
“That’s my good boy,” Dean soothed, stroking Sam’s cheek as he chewed and swallowed.  
  
God, it was delicious, probably the best thing Sam had ever tasted. Each luscious pod of citrus exploded on his tongue, filling his mouth with flavor. Dean’s hand felt good too, warm on the hinge of his jaw.  
  
“Here we go.” Dean offered another section.  
  
This time Sam lifted his head off the bed to take it from his hand, moaning softly as he eagerly consumed it, wanting another immediately.  
  
Piece by piece, Dean fed him the entire orange.  
  
“What else,” said Dean. “Want some toast? I can order you anything you want for breakfast.”  
  
But Sam remembered himself, rolling his head towards the wall. “M’not hungry,” he lied.  
  
“You need to eat, sweetheart. You’re too skinny, we need to build up your appetite again. How about scrambled eggs, hmm?”  
  
Stubbornly, Sam shook his head no.  
  
“I think you’re going to want to pick something yourself, baby boy,” Dean warned. “Because don’t think I’ll hesitate to slide a tube down your throat and feed you that way. S’that what you want? You’d look awful good like that, strapped down on your back with your mouth stretched wide around a tube - maybe a smear of lube between your cheeks, from the suppository filling up that little bottom? Keep you nice and regular for me, hmm?”  
  
“Don’t,” said Sam helplessly.  
  
“Then eat.”  
  
Finally, Sam conceded to pancakes, which Dean cut up and fed him with a fork. It was messy, not to mention embarrassing when Dean used a spit-wet finger to wipe the syrup from his chin.  
  
“Next time, gonna feed you by hand,” Dean promised, “but we can use silverware for now.”  
  
Sam could do nothing but open his mouth to accept another forkful. Anything was better than being intubated, right?  
  
It was annoying that Sam wasn’t allowed his own cup of coffee (“not until your stomach settles, baby,”) but Dean held up his mug for Sam to sip from, one hand supporting his neck as he drank.  
  
“Have some of this bacon,” he ordered next. Holding the crispy strip between his fingers, he prodded it between Sam’s lips, feeding him the whole thing in one big bite. Sam was quickly full, but Dean wasn’t showing any inclination to stop. “Another bite, Sam."  
  
“No more,” he begged, swallowing. He sighed in relief when Dean finally nodded and slid the tray away.  
  
“I like to see you eating,” said Dean softly, sliding his hand under the sheet to rub Sam’s swollen stomach.  
  
Sam was reminded once more that he was spread out and helpless – he had almost forgotten, in the pleasure of being well-rested and full. He couldn’t understand why his body wasn’t cooperating with his brain, which was telling him this was _wrong_ and he needed to be trying to escape as soon as possible. His belly just gurgled happily at the massage.  
  
Dean’s fingers dipped a little lower. “Are you hard for me, baby?” asked Dean, checking between his legs.  
  
The truth was, Sam usually got a little chub in the night, and that morning was no exception, even with the plug up his bott – _ass_. The plug in his ass. He hissed as Dean gently gripped his dick, lifting it away from his stomach, and Sam couldn’t struggle, couldn’t even move his legs. He let his head drop back on the pillow and turned his face away.  
  
“This is nice, sweetheart,” said Dean, giving him a squeeze, “although I know you can do better.”  
  
His hands moved on, tracing over Sam’s abdomen. “You seem pretty full here,” he said, pressing down carefully. “Hmm? You need to use the toilet?”  
  
Sam flushed with humiliation, but he _did_ have to go. And any chance to get up, unattended, was worth trying for. He nodded, shyly.  
  
“Alright, sweetheart, here’s how it’s gonna go. I’m going to get these straps off you, get you sat up, and then we’ll get you all ready for the day, okay? How does that sound?”  
  
Sam didn’t want to cooperate with his kidnappers, but he was eager to move; the restraints weren’t that uncomfortable, but his limbs were stiff from being locked in place all night. “Okay,” he said.  
  
“You’ll have your hands cuffed in front of you, until you show me you can be trusted,” continued Dean, uncompromisingly. “And if you can’t keep nice and quiet for me, I’ll have to stuff up that pretty mouth again.”  
  
Hesitantly, Sam nodded that he understood.  
  
“One word,” Dean warned, pulling back the sheet.  
  
Sam flushed at his nakedness, squirming in the restraints, but he knew better than to complain. He had no doubt that Dean would follow through on his threats and Sam would be left sucking on a gag for the rest of the day.  
  
Dean started with the thick fabric cuffs that locked down Sam’s feet. His fingers came to rest on Sam’s restrained ankles, one of which was reddened and sore from his fruitless tugging on the straps.  
  
“Is this hurting you?”  
  
Sam shrugged.  
  
Soothingly, Dean rubbed Sam’s smooth calves. “Are you sore, baby?”  
  
Sam closed his eyes. “A little,” he admitted, wondering why he was telling the truth.  
  
“In your bottom? Is that what’s sore?”  
  
But Sam pressed his lips together, refusing to answer. If only Dean would use another term, he thought desperately, maybe he could almost stand it, but that childish word – Sam was starting to use it in his own head now, instead of something reasonable, like _butt_.  
  
“Okay. Let’s take a look.” Dean unhooked Sam’s ankles from the cot, but left his wrists tied down. Instinctively, Sam drew his feet up. “You gonna open for me, sweetheart?” asked Dean, sliding his hand between Sam’s legs. Helpless, Sam relaxed his thighs, letting Dean spread them apart. “Where is it hurting, baby?”  
  
Dean guided him into position, knees bent, feet flat on the mattress. “Easy,” soothed Dean, nudging his feet closer to his body, opening him further. Dean’s fingers drifted over the base of the plug. “You want me to take this out for you, baby?”  
  
Sam really did, but he refused to answer, holding still, hoping Dean would follow through on his offer without him having to admit it.  
  
“Sam,” said Dean firmly. “I asked you if you wanted me to reach between your legs and pull out that dildo you’ve got crammed up your ass.”  
  
Sam squirmed, his hole twinging at the movement. “Yes,” he whispered finally. “Please.”  
  
“Alright.” Dean took hold of one of Sam’s legs. “Get your knees up by your ears for me, sweetheart. Close as you can.”  
  
Slowly, Sam assumed the humiliating position. With his arms strapped down as counter-weight, it was surprisingly easy to fold himself up, but his full stomach and bladder protested.  
  
“Now spread nice for me, baby. All the way. That’s a good boy.”  
  
Sam felt his cheeks gently pressed apart. Without any hair, he felt ridiculously vulnerable; his smooth balls were sensitive, and he gasped when fingers brushed over them. Then Dean took careful hold of the end of the plug. And paused.  
  
“You look a little irritated here, baby,” he said, “gonna slick you up first.”  
  
Sam groaned as Dean began smoothing a cool, soothing gel around his reddened asshole. He spread it around so Sam’s whole crack was wet, humming tunelessly to himself. Then he tugged lightly on the toy, moving achingly slow, until finally with a quick pull he extracted the whole thing from Sam’s ass. Sam felt empty, his anus clenching uselessly around nothing as Dean rubbed him there with a slick thumb.  
  
“S’it feel funny? Here you go, this should help.”  
  
Without warning he slid one finger inside. Sam squirmed, moaning as he was breached. The stretch of it wasn’t much after wearing the plug all night, but it was warm on the tender rim of his hole, just wide enough to give him something to clench down on.  
  
“Please …” he begged.  
  
“Ah-ah, baby. Shush. S’my job to decide what you need.” Dean’s free hand was holding his knees in place, easily keeping him pinned. “Gotta keep quiet and let me do my job.”  
  
The finger gently rubbed around inside him, working the gel in deeper, and Sam hissed in embarrassment and maybe some sick kind of pleasure.  
  
“You could come just like this,” said Dean, his voice soft. “Just my nice thick finger stuffed up your needy little hole. I know, it’s so hungry, isn’t it? It wants something pushed up here, to make it feel good. Nice and full. It’s okay, baby. We’re going to take care of you now. You won’t be empty any more.”  
  
Sam turned his head away, sobbing, as Dean carefully withdrew. He was allowed to drop his feet to back to the mattress, his ass tingling from the salve which he could feel dribbling out of his hole.  
  
One by one, Dean loosened and unbuckled the restraints on Sam’s wrists, and Sam laid still, sniffling, and waited to be finally set free.  
  
“There you are. That’s better, hmm?”  
  
Dean carefully pulled him upright, wrapping the sheet around him, and Sam grunted as his stiff muscles protested being used. “Easy, easy now, shshshsh.” Dean drew Sam in to rest against his chest, head tucked into the curve of his neck and shoulder.  
  
“I know, I know, baby, it’s a lot to take in. Shsh.  Gonna take good care of you sweetheart, not gonna let anything bad happen to you.” Dean’s hand rubbed up and down over Sam’s spine, pressing him into the rough hug.  
  
Sam knew he should be pulling away, but something inside him greedily craved the contact. As a child, he had loved to cuddle, and would still have been a touchy-feely guy if he hadn’t gotten the message that he should be stronger than that now. Dean’s palm, scrubbing up his neck and rumpling his hair, was everything Sam knew he shouldn’t want.  
  
Dean knuckled Sam’s scalp. Then he smoothed the strands back down. “Need to get you cleaned up, baby,” he whispered, his warm breath gusting across Sam’s cheek. But he didn’t seem in any hurry to let him go; seemed like he’d be pretty content to hold Sam all day, if it came to it.  
  
Finally Sam forced himself to sit back. Dean let him go at once, seemingly tuned in to the slightest tensing of Sam’s body, but he kept one grounding palm on Sam’s shoulder, his thumb stroking the base of Sam’s neck.  
  
“Alright, let’s get you cuffed up,” he said calmly.  
  
He reached for a box on the cart, pulling out a pair of silver bracelets.  
  
Sam tensed, not wanting any more restraints. He knew he had to wait for the right moment to try and get away and this wasn’t it. Even if he used the element of surprise to catch Dean off guard, which seemed unlikely enough – although several inches shorter than Sam, Dean was well-muscled, and moved as though he was an experienced brawler – Sam had no idea if the door was unlocked, or how to get through the maze of hallways on the other side.  
  
He’d be quickly recaptured and they’d be twice as careful with him after that. He needed to be patient, to learn the layout of the facility as well as what lay beyond it. Sam didn’t even know where he’d been taken, if he was still in the state of California at all. It felt like he could be on the surface of the moon.  
  
So instead, he forced himself to hold obediently still as Dean closed the metal cuffs around his wrists. Unlike the regular kind, they clipped together in the middle with a heavy silver D-ring, so they could be opened without having to take them off. Dean tugged lightly on the ring to make sure it was solid. It was. Then he steered Sam into an adjoining room with both hands on his shoulders.  
  
Having left the sheet behind, Sam was completely naked, his limp dick hanging humbly down between his thighs. The only thing he wore was the cuffs on his wrists.  
  
“Toilet,” said Dean, indicating a closed door to their right. “Don’t be long.”  
  
Sam went to the bathroom and shut the door. There was no lock, he noticed immediately. The tiny room consisted of nothing but the toilet and a tiny sink. There was no lid on the toilet, and even the roll of toilet paper was just sitting loose in a basket on the sink. No windows he could climb out of, nothing that could be recycled as a weapon or otherwise used as a means of escape – even if Sam had any place to conceal something like that, which he didn’t.  
  
“Sam.” Dean rapped sharply on the door. “Another minute and I’m coming in.”  
  
Hurriedly, Sam sat down and did his business, conscious of Dean lingering right outside. He was somewhat impeded by the restraints on his wrists, but he managed. His slick, stretched ass made the experience weird too. When he stood up to flush, there was no visible handle he could find. He turned instead to laboriously wash his hands.  
  
“Time’s up,” said Dean, pushing open the door. He glanced in the bowl and flushed the toilet through some mechanism Sam couldn’t see. “Good job, baby,” said Dean, putting the lid down. “You just saved yourself a glycerin suppository.”  
  
Refusing to engage, Sam flicked his dripping hands in the sink until Dean produced a hand towel. He cupped the terrycloth around Sam’s fists, patting them dry.  
  
“Okay!” he said, brightly. “Ready for a shower?”  
  
With a firm grip on his elbow, Dean steered him through a doorway that led to a small, white room with a bathtub tucked into the corner and a folding chair in the middle of the floor.  
  
“Sit for a moment,” Dean ordered, pushing Sam into the chair with a firm hand. Sam flinched as his sore ass hit the seat. “Nice warm water’s going to loosen up your muscles,” said Dean, pulling back the curtain and turning on the water, testing the temperature with his hand. Soon, thick fragrant steam started filling the room.  
  
“Alright,” said Dean, taking Sam by the elbow and hoisting him to his feet. “In you get, mind the side now, big step. There you go.” He guided Sam over the lip of the tub and in under the showerhead. “You’ve been such a good boy, you can shower all by yourself,” said Dean. “I’ll sit here and wait for you.”  
  
It was evident that he considered this to be a significant treat for Sam, and a magnanimous gesture on his own part; of course, it might have seemed like more of a concession if the shower curtain wasn’t clear plastic. From his vantage point less than a foot away, he’d be able to watch Sam’s every move.  
  
Sam stepped under the spray anyway. It felt good under the pressure of the water, pounding and warm. There was an iron ring in the tile above the taps, and Sam wondered what it was doing there, but otherwise it was an ordinary bathtub.  
  
“Okay, baby, soap up your belly for me, and under your arms,” said Dean, sitting in the folding chair.  
  
Sam scrubbed his chest instead, a small act of defiance. He was actually surprised by the bolt of fear he felt, defying Dean.  
  
“You need me to come in and help you, baby?” Dean asked calmly. “Just keep it up.”  
  
Sam pretended that washing his stomach was his idea.  
  
“Now spread your legs, baby, wash yourself there. Clean up your cock and your balls, and then reach between your cheeks. I want you to be nice and clean for me.”  
  
Sam was pointedly washing under his arms at this point, but he had to admit that his dick did thicken a little. But it wasn’t because he _liked_ being talked to like that. It was just – confusing, hearing words like that, said in that smirking tone.  
  
“Five seconds, Sam,” said Dean, a warning in his voice.  
  
Sam was beginning to notice that he only used his name when he _really meant it_. Reluctantly, he soaped himself off as quickly as he could.  
  
“Next time I’ll help you to do a better job,” said Dean, pulling aside the shower curtain to turn off the water. Sam startled and lost his footing on the soapy tile, and would have fallen, except Dean wrapped a strong arm around his waist to help him keep his feet. “Woah, baby, didn’t mean to scare you there,” he said. “I gotcha, I gotcha. Here, sit down in the tub.”  
  
He helped Sam sit. “There we go. Now, let’s get your hair washed, huh?”  
  
He pulled a hand-sprayer out of the faucet and tested the water temperature on his hand. Sam couldn’t help noticing that he had rolled up his sleeves, and it made him look much more casual.  
  
Dean aimed the sprayer at the crown of Sam’s head. “Here we go, baby, gonna feel so good,” he crooned, catching hold of Sam’s wrists and holding them in his lap while he thoroughly soaked Sam’s hair. Sam found himself relaxing automatically at the comforting force of the warm water on his scalp. “That’s my good boy,” said Dean, releasing Sam’s hands.  
  
Sam didn’t bother to move them. He felt Dean working in the shampoo, careful to keep the suds out of Sam’s eyes.  
  
“Does that feel good?” Dean scritched at Sam’s scalp, his blunt fingernails raking through Sam’s long hair. Sam nodded drowsily. “That’s good, baby. Head back.”  
  
A finger under Sam’s chin guided his face up as the sprayer rinsed soap out of Sam’s hair, sliding in white rivulets down the side of his face, his neck, even as Dean’s hand cupped along his hairline kept it safely out of his eyes.  
  
“Lookin’ pretty, baby,” murmured Dean, pushing the slick hair back, combing through the wet strands.  
  
He tipped Sam’s head forward, scrubbing gently behind his ears, then sliding the washcloth into the ear canal to clean him there. Sam hadn’t been washed like this since he was a child, and the sensations were bringing back memories of being small and cared for, knowing without question that he was precious and loved. Even his helplessness reminded him of a child’s innocent dependence.  
  
Sam shook his head, confused. He wasn’t a little kid anymore. He was a grown man and he took care of himself. But Dean’s hands felt so good, so soothing and tender, that Sam almost felt himself relaxing into the gentle attention.  
  
“Kneel up for me, sweetheart.” Dean easily caught his bound hands and quickly hooked the ring on the cuffs to the ring in the tile. Sam grunted as his body was stretched out. “Sit up on your knees,” Dean encouraged, his hands already guiding Sam into that position.  
  
One hand slipped under his butt, supporting him as he shifted, but it felt less intrusive than it should have. Sam wondered if he was getting used to being touched.  
  
“Gonna get you clean back here,” said Dean. “Be a good boy and keep still for me.”  
  
He pressed Sam forwards and slid the hand-sprayer between the cheeks of his ass. Sam gasped as the spray sluiced over his crack. He tried to pull away, but Dean easily stopped him.  
  
“Easy, baby,” he soothed.  
  
“No,” Sam hissed, struggling against the cuffs that kept his hands trapped.  
  
Dean sighed. “What did I tell you, baby? You don’t talk back, and you don’t tell me no.”  
  
“Please,” Sam begged, still squirming.  
  
Dean pulled a hand towel off of the bar and twisted it into a long roll. “Open your mouth,” he said.  
  
Before Sam could pull away Dean was forcing the material between his jaws, gagging Sam with the thick towel and tying the two ends tightly together behind his head. Then he pressed him firmly forward, so that Sam’s face was mashed against the wall, his back end exposed.  
  
“This bottom belongs to me,” said Dean calmly, easing the nozzle up against Sam’s asshole. “I own it and I’ll do what I want with it. Now, deep breath.” Dean added gentle pressure until the head of the sprayer popped in.  
  
The rush of warm water filling him made Sam’s knees go weak, and he moaned brokenly into the fabric as Dean rubbed his back. His dick was twitching at the sensation.  
  
“There’s my good boy,” said Dean, moving his hands up to stroke over Sam’s sides. “Take it all like a good boy for me. Just relax and let it fill you up, it feels so good, huh?” Sam groaned and Dean stroked his belly soothingly.  
  
“Okay, that’s it for now, good job, sweetheart,” said Dean, pulling out the nozzle and guiding Sam’s hips forward, over the drain. The dirty water splattered out of him, down the backs of his thighs. Then Dean hosed him off again with the sprayer. “All clean,” he said. “Let’s get you dried off.”  
  
He put away the sprayer and hauled Sam to his feet, unhooking the cuffs from the ring. He guided him out of the tub to stand, shivering, on the tile, while Dean reached for a fluffy white towel. He wrapped it around Sam, rubbing it all over him – his back, feet, knees, and between his legs. Gently he cupped Sam with the terrycloth and dried his sensitive, hairless testicles.  
  
“You’re much calmer this way, aren’t you?” Dean pushed him down to sit on the edge of the tub while he tried to towel off his hair without dislodging the gag.  
  
Sam tried to disagree, but he was muffled by the thick cloth in his mouth.  
  
Dean smiled. “Easy, little one,” he said.  
  
Sam huffed – why did Dean persist in calling him these ridiculous petnames? Baby, sweetheart – _little one_? The latter was the worst – Sam was a really big guy, way taller than Dean.  
  
Quickly, before Sam knew what he was intending to do, Dean patted his bottom with baby powder to keep him dry.  
  
“Alright,” he said, standing up. “Let’s get you dressed and ready for the day, huh?”  
  
He led Sam by the elbow back to the main room, where a change of clothes had been laid out on the bed. Sam chose to cooperate, afraid to risk any more punishment when he seemed so close to getting out of the room.  
  
Dean bent him low enough to drop a white tunic over Sam’s head, which barely covered his backside when he pulled it down.  
  
“Looks amazing, baby,” said Dean, giving Sam’s prominently displayed ass a squeeze.  
  
He unclipped Sam’s wrists to fit his arms through the sleeves, but barely gave him a second to enjoy his freedom before twisting them behind him and pinning them together again.  
  
As a final insult, he fastened a thick collar Sam’s neck. Dean hooked a finger under the leather and tugged lightly, presumably checking that it wasn’t too tight. Then he clipped a long, braided leather leash to the ring in front, tugging gently, pulling Sam along. Sam glared around his towel, clearly indicating through his furrowed brow how he felt about being led about like a dog on a lead.  
  
“Just until I can trust you, baby,” said Dean, untying the gag from Sam’s mouth and tossing it aside. Then he started forwards again, towing Sam along behind him.  
  
Helpless to resist without the use of his hands, Sam stumbled after him.  
  
“C’mon, Sammy,” said Dean cheerfully, heading for the door. “We’re late already.”

 

Dean led Sam unerringly through the dizzying maze of hallways, all of which looked the same, as Sam tried to concentrate on memorizing the turns. Right-left-left, past a dozen identical unmarked doors, then through a second hallway that branched off through an open door. Barefoot, practically naked, Sam struggled to keep up and had to eventually give up on tracking their location. Instead, he conceded to glumly following in Dean’s footsteps, tugged along by the leash, remembering his resolution to wait for the right time to make an escape.  
  
“How the hell are you keeping the floorplan straight?” asked Sam, frankly.  
  
“It helps that I was part of the team that designed the blue prints,” said Dean. “I’m the Operating Vice President of the Western Division Facility, it’s a perk of the job. Left up here.”  
  
Sam was brought at last to what appeared to be another exam room, with a large piece of equipment covered with a plastic sheet. Just the sight of the room - blue walls, fluorescent lighting - made Sam feel tense, but Dean's arm slipped around his waist, and tugged him in.  
  
"Hello, anyone around?" Dean called. “Sorry we’re late.”  
  
A man in a white coat - not the doctor from before, thankfully, but a rather kindly-looking older man with white hair - came out of a back room, holding a clipboard. "Dean,” he said warmly, "I heard you were taking on a training again. It's been a while, huh?"  
  
"Sure has," said Dean, sliding a hand up to the nape of Sam’s neck, under the collar. "But I tell you what, doc, you get right back into the flow of it."  
  
"I bet you do! I bet you do. So.” He cleared his throat. “Have you explained to the sub what we're doing today?"  
  
“No, I thought I'd leave that up to the professionals."  
  
"Okay, well, I'm Dr. Robert, one of three techs here at the Facility," the man explained, in Sam's general direction but without making eye contact. "My specialization is parasympathetic response."  
  
To Sam, who had studied computers in college, this meant nothing.  
  
“How’s his temperament?” the doctor asked Dean, looking Sam over.  
  
“It’s good, real good,” said Dean.  
  
“Is he neurotic? Anxious?”  
  
“He was a little OCD about his stuff,” said Dean, thoughtfully, rubbing Sam’s neck with his thumb. “Well, and he’s quite defensive of his ass.”  
  
“Hmm.” Dr. Robert took a note on a clipboard that he seemed to pull out of nowhere. “Not liking things inside him, or … ?”  
  
Sam opened his mouth to protest, and Dean tugged on the collar hard enough that Sam’s voice was cut off in a gasp of surprise.  
  
“Just a general hesitancy about being touched or handled there. You know he’s a virgin, I figured it might just be first-time jitters.”  
  
“Well, he’ll definitely be building up his exposure here!” the doctor chuckled. “How’s his orgasm?” Sam tried to protest, twisting in Dean’s grasp, but with his hands bound behind his back he was no match for the other man, who talked right over him.  
  
“Ahh, it’s not there yet. He still needs stimulation of his cock to come.”  
  
“Hmm. Are you concerned about that?”  
  
Dean rubbed a thumb over the vertebra of Sam’s exposed spine. “No,” he said. “We’ve got plenty of time.”  
  
“Well, alright, then. Any tips for today’s session?”  
  
“Huh? Oh, no, he can take it like a champ when he needs to. Right, baby?”  
  
The doctor pulled a single glove on his right hand. “Why don’t I just have a look.”  
  
Dean’s hands were back on Sam’s shoulders. Sam instinctively started to struggle, but Dean suppressed him easily, bending him over a bench and drawing the leash back over his shoulder, wrapping the end of it around the clip between the cuffs. Sam’s head was jerked back by the collar, with his back end presented to the doc.  
  
“I see what you mean,” said Dr. Robert. “Doesn’t think much of this, this does he.”  
  
Dean freed a hand to clamp over Sam’s mouth, cutting off the sound of his protests. “Shh, baby, he’s just checking your bottom.” His palm was warm across Sam’s lips, mashed as they were against his teeth.  
  
Sam felt the hem of his tunic lifted, exposing his naked ass. Dean had one hand over his mouth and one gripping his shoulder, meaning that the slick fingers examining Sam’s hole belonged to the doctor.  
  
“Seems good here,” he said, as a finger asserted itself, sliding into Sam. He moaned, squirming at the sensation. “It’s important that he’s properly lubricated for today’s sessions,” said the doctor, “you got him?”  
  
“Go,” said Dean, using his weight to keep Sam’s shoulders pinned, head cradled in the crook of Dean’s elbow.  
  
Something thin and cool was insinuated in Sam’s hole, slowly fed further up into him with gentle, continuous pressure. Sam tried to writhe away but it was useless; he would only end up choking himself.  
  
“Just the tip of the lube gun, baby,” Dean whispered soothingly, as whatever it was slid in another inch. Sam was aware of a warm, slimy sensation inside of him, inching downwards as the object slowly withdrew. Eventually it was pulled out altogether.  
  
“Alright, let’s get him seated,” said Dr. Robert, stepping back as Dean released Sam. He made the mistake of opening his mouth, and immediately a bright colored foam mouthguard was slipped between his teeth, pressed into place before he could resist. Then Dean hauled him upright and Sam hissed unhappily at the sloppy, dribbling feeling in his ass. If it _was_ lubricant they had spread up inside him, a good amount of it was now sliding wetly out down the backs of his thighs.  
  
The doctor had turned to the apparatus in the middle of the room and was drawing back the sheet. It revealed a low silver chair, with a thick metal phallus jutting up from the center of the seat. Coming out from under the chair, Sam could see a variety of wires connected to the computer in the corner.  
  
Somehow he knew he wasn’t going to enjoy anything that happened next.  
  
“The anal probe measures contractions of the internal sphincter to monitor arousal,” the doctor explained casually, “so we can learn more about what the sub does and doesn’t like, without the filter of their moral objections or personal hang-ups. We get the data straight from the pleasure center, and bypass the rational mind entirely.”  
  
“Hear that, baby,” said Dean brightly. “Sounds good, doesn’t it!”  
  
Sam shook his head frantically.  
  
Dr. Robert chuckled.  
  
They dragged him over to the chair, one on each side of him, and Sam tried to fight as his ass was positioned carefully over the metal cock, Dean reaching down to gently part his cheeks and guide the dildo into his hole. Then he was forced to sit down onto it by the strong hands gripping his thighs.  
  
“Easy, baby,” said Dean. “This is valuable scientific equipment we’re shoving up your butt.”  
  
It slid easily up into him, spearing him solidly behind the balls and forcing him cleanly open around it, squelching with lube.  
  
“That’s good,” said Dean, pressing him down at the shoulders to seat him fully, and tying the leash to the back of the chair.  
  
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one with weird wires snaking up under his balls.  
  
Sam squirmed uselessly as he was impaled, much deeper than either Dean’s fingers or the dildo from last night had gone. It wasn’t too thick, but felt incredibly invasive, and every time he moved it pulled against the sides of his aching hole.  
  
They worked together to get him secured, legs wide apart and buckled at the ankles to the chair’s base. His hands were clipped to the seat of the chair behind him, next to his tail bone, which shifted his weight more fully onto the probe.  
  
“Has he got the mouthguard sitting right?” asked the doctor, leaning over Sam’s face to check. “I don’t want him grinding his teeth from the electrostim.”  
  
Sam didn’t like foam piece in his mouth, and was planning to spit it out as soon as he got the chance. He pushed at it with his tongue.  
  
“Needs the muzzle,” said the doctor, observing him shrewdly.  
  
“On it,” said Dean, rummaging around in a drawer. “This the one?” He held up some kind of contraption made of straps and mesh.  
  
The doctor had turned away and was now squinting at the computer set up on his desk. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, that’ll do.”  
  
“Alright, baby, this is just to keep your mouth closed,” said Dean, approaching.  
  
Sam tried to turn his head away, but Dean moved with him, a hand sliding behind his neck and held him still. The wide mask of the muzzle sealed over his whole mouth from chin to nose. It buckled behind his head at two different points, one up behind his ears, one at his neck.  
  
“Ooh, he likes that,” said Dr. Robert, studying his computer printout.  
  
Dean hummed softly, adjusting the chin strap so that it cinched tight. “Looks so beautiful on you, baby,” he said, stroking Sam’s hair. “He’s a lot calmer with his mouth locked down, it really helps him settle.” He pressed a kiss to Sam’s temple and stepped back.  
  
Sam pursed his lips out to push at the mesh. The pressure of it, like a bandage over a wound, did feel strangely safe. But still, he shook his head violently, trying to dislodge the muzzle. It was fruitless.  
  
“Alright,” said the doctor, “let’s just get him hooked up here, and we can get started.”  
  
As Sam sat, helpless, his arms locking his body immobile to the chair, Dr. Robert attached a series of electrodes to his forehead. Dean unbuttoned the front of his tunic, and then more electrodes were placed on his chest, one on each of his pectorals, and around his stomach. Dean rubbed his back comfortingly as the doctor guided his legs apart and attached more of them to his inner thighs, then his balls. As a final insult, Dr. Robert brought over a clear plastic tube with wires running from the end, and slid it over Sam’s limp dick. He groaned as it was seated, pressing up against the tip of him, the silicon ring at the other end fitted snugly around the base.  
  
“How’s it reading, doc?” asked Dean.  
  
Dr. Robert was looking as his computer screen again. “Let’s do a test,” he said, fingers racing over the keys. “There’s an electrified bar in the drawer, give him a tap to start with.”  
  
Dean disappeared from Sam’s line of sight, and returned with what looked like a gleaming metal dildo, with one end attached by a long cord to what might be a modified walkman. Without warning, he touched the end of the metal cylinder to one of Sam’s nipples.  
  
Sam convulsed, the muscles of his chest contracting at the touch of the device. It was sort of like being burned, but with no lingering effects – as soon as Dean pulled back, the sensations stopped, leaving Sam dazed and panting through the muzzle.  
  
“One more time?” said Dr. Robert.  
  
Dean picked the other side this time, lightly touching the stiffened peak of Sam’s chest with the machine. Knowing what to expect made it even more intense, and Sam whined, shamefully high-pitched, at the sharp, bright pain that raced through him.  
  
“Wow,” said the doctor, studying his machine. “Big response there. His nipples are really sensitive.”  
  
“Yeah, we noted that at his physical, too,” Dean said.  
  
“He’d probably really enjoy having them sucked and fondled,” said Dr. Robert, “maybe even lightly bitten, but I wouldn’t recommend piercing or clamping them. It would probably be too much.”  
  
“Got it,” said Dean. “I’ll make a note in his file.”  
  
“Can we try a less erogenous zone? How about the back of his neck.”  
  
Dean moved behind Sam and grabbed a fistful of his hair, careful of the muzzle straps. He forced Sam’s head down, chin to his chest, barring his vulnerable nape. Sam barely felt the touch of the bar above his collar before his whole body tightened like a fist, electricity racing through his bowed spine. His jaw locked, teeth sinking in to the foam piece in his mouth, drool leaking out to soak into the fabric of his muzzle. He could _feel_ his ass clenching around the probe, milking it with the contractions of his muscles.  
  
“That was a great one,” he could hear the doctor saying, when the ringing cleared in his ears. “Well, he’s definitely masochistic – got at least a few wires crossed, for sure.”  
  
“We’ll have to watch that,” said Dean. He tugged Sam’s head back up by the hair, patting his shoulder reassuringly.  
  
“I’d like to start the video now,” said Dr. Robert. “Will he be okay to watch, or does he need his eyes taped open?”  
  
“I think he can manage to keep them open himself,” said Dean. “Huh, baby? You gonna be good for us?”  
  
Sam grunted feebly, hoping it was the right answer. He could still feel his muscles twitching.  
  
“Alright then, Samuel, if I could ask you to direct your attention to the screen in front of you?” The doctor pressed a button and a projector lit up the opposite wall. “Let’s get a baseline first,” he added, typing something into the keyboard.  
  
The video image displayed a naked man and a naked woman, standing completely revealed by harsh fluorescent lights. There was no sound. The camera tracked over the woman’s breasts and then dropped to her crotch, as she spread her thighs to expose the hair of her pubis. Then the picture abruptly cut to the man’s genitals, specifically his slowly hardening cock.  
  
“Much more responsive to the male images,” said Dr. Robert casually. “That’s in line with what we predicted.”  
  
Sam knew he was into guys, but his sexual experience was lacking. He had had a couple girlfriends but they had never worked out for long. The sex was okay, but it hadn’t felt quite right. He had never figured out how to ask a guy for what he really wanted. The closest he’d ever come was a lasting flirtation with his tennis partner in college, who had once drunkenly offered him a handjob at a party. Sam had declined.  
  
The video changed. The next image was of two men kissing; Sam grunted behind his gag at the wet, messy slide of lips. The scene changed to the same men in front of a brick wall, as one dropped to his knees and started sucking the other one off. The camera zoomed in on his stretched mouth, swallowing around the thick cock he was working on. Then it was a man on his stomach, taking a hard fuck up the ass from a woman with a strap-on.  
  
“Would you like to make a video like this, Sam?” asked the doctor, studying his computer screen. Sam didn’t bother trying to answer.  
  
The clips began to increase in speed, each more bewildering than the last. Men being fucked in funny costumes, or covered in latex, or elaborately bound in rope. A woman tied down to a table was fucked in the ass and mouth by two men. It was difficult to say how much the woman was enjoying herself, and Sam flushed at Dr. Robert’s _hmm_ of interest when he studied the print- outs.  
  
Sometimes the camera would simply pan over a still image of a single object – a pair of leather wrist cuffs, once, or a fringed leather flogger. Sam didn’t even know what some of the objects _were_ , although he could guess. The camera lingered lovingly over a ribbed black dildo, thick as a man’s arm, that made Sam’s ass burn in sympathy.  
  
On- screen a screaming, struggling man was forced to his hands and knees, stripped, and gagged with his own socks before he was fucked by a line of men, one by one. The camera focused on his face, contorted with pain and pleasure.  
  
“I can see that these images excite you,” said the doctor, watching his monitor. “Would you like me to allow the video to finish?” Sam shook his head, although he did secretly wonder, for a second, what it would be like to have all those men standing around watching and waiting their turn. Although of course the idea disgusted him.  
  
“Interesting. Last one,” said the doctor finally, pressing another button.  
  
This video was grainy, filmed entirely in black and white, with audio suddenly buzzing through the speakers. Sam could make out the shape of a dark haired man, his face half-obscured by the white sheets of a bed.  
  
“You remember Cas, sweetheart,” said Dean, his eyes on the screen as well.  
  
The camera panned, and it became clear that it _was_ Cas, on his stomach, lying on top of an unmade bed. He was grunting softly as he was fucked, his whole body bouncing with the force of the thrusts.  
  
He was wearing a button-down shirt, his hands bound behind him with a white strip of cloth. When he turned his face, Sam could see that he was gagged with another piece of the same material, his cheeks bunched around the fabric. His expression was rapturous.  
  
“Cas is a good sub,” said Dean, still watching the clip. “He’s the first I ever trained. Now he lives here at the Facility, demonstrating proper behavior to the new recruits. Look how beautifully he takes this. See how he just relaxes? No push back at all, just lovely. He can do this for hours.”  
  
“Let’s stay on this for a moment,” said Dr. Robert, pressing more keys.  
  
The scene zoomed out again, so that Cas’ partner was revealed. It was a muscular man, fully dressed, his back to the camera. He hadn’t dropped his pants, just unzipped and pushed everything down out of the way. Sam couldn’t even see his dick.  
  
His voice, when he spoke, was tinny through the speakers was but easily audible: “Angel, you want to kneel up for me?”  
  
Sam started in his seat. Dean. It was _Dean_ in the video.  
  
“Interesting again,” said the doctor, examining his results.  
  
The onscreen Cas raised his narrow hips, offering up his ass. His shoulders and face were mashed into the pillowcase. Dean gripped his sides and adjusted his strokes so they were smoother, steadier, pulling the other man back into each thrust.  
  
The camera angle changed, moving behind the couple, focusing on Cas’ back and his backside. His body looked entirely soft and hairless, like Sam’s, and he was ivory pale, as though he wore nothing but long sleeves. When the image focused between his legs, his hole was slick with lube, reddened from the stretch of being fucked, but it was easily swallowing Dean’s entire dick on every stroke. He moaned softly with each inward push. Everything about his body suggested relaxation and acceptance.  
  
“You understand, this was only after we were done with his training,” whispered the real Dean in Sam’s ear, stroking back his hair. “Don’t worry - I would never get off with someone I’m teaching. I’m not that much of an asshole.”  
  
Sam’s eyes were drawn continually back to what he could see of Dean in the picture, but he couldn’t make out much. He was moving faster, harder, the closer he got to coming, bucking up into Cas’ willing body, grunting softly as he came.  
  
Sam’s dick twitched in its tube.  
  
Pulling out, the on-screen Dean politely angled his body away from the camera, wiping himself off and zipping up where Sam couldn’t see it. He carefully parted Cas’ legs, the smaller man shifting to accommodate him, to show the camera the pink crevasse with its wrinkled little pucker, dribbling fluid. Then he slapped Cas’ backside affectionately. “Come on, angel, that’s enough lounging around. You got what you needed, didn’t you,” he said. In spite of his words, his hands were gentle as he untied the knot binding Cas’ hands and rubbed the reddened wrists. Cas dropped them obediently in his lap and let Dean work the gag out of his mouth, which was quickly discarded. Placidly, he accepted the kiss that Dean dropped on his cheek. “Thank you for showing everybody how a good boy takes being fucked,” said Dean, sweetly.  
  
Sam watched Dean’s face as he stroked the blue- eyed man’s dark hair.  
  
“Well, I think we’ve got what we need,” said Dr. Robert, turning off the projector. The picture cut out abruptly, before Sam could see if they’d kissed. “I’ll send you my full report this week.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Sounds good.”  
  
“You’ve got a great sub there,” said the doctor. “He’s incredibly responsive.” He started removing the electrodes, one by one.  
  
“Hear that? Good ass-twitching, Sammy,” said Dean playfully, scruffing up his hair.  
  
Dr. Robert smiled. “I can tell you, he responded the most strongly to images of domination and control. Actually he’s got among the highest numbers I’ve ever seen associated with some of those scenes.”  
  
“That fits with what I’ve seen,” Dean agreed, sounding almost proud.  
  
Sam glowered.  
  
“He’s going to need to be very thoroughly topped in order to be confident and fulfilled. I don’t think anything less than complete, 24 hour submission is going to do the job.”  
  
Dr. Robert turned away to fuss with the machine, leaving Dean to unhook Sam’s hands from the back of the chair. He left them clipped together behind Sam’s back, wrapping the leash around the hook that connected them, so that Sam’s head was pulled back by the pressure of the collar around his neck. Then Dean bent to unstrap Sam’s legs and unhook the machine wires. Sam immediately moved forward, moaning as the probe slid wetly out of his hole.  
  
Dean casually spread his cheeks and wiped his bottom with a cloth, even though the doctor was right there watching. Sam made a strangled complaint through his gag and Dean shushed him with a hand on the back of his neck, gently pushing his shoulders down, checking his hole for damage.  
  
“You’re really good with him,” said the doctor, approvingly.  
  
“Sammy’s a good boy,” said Dean, kissing the top of his head. “He makes it easy.” He bent close to Sam’s ear and said softly, “I liked watching your pretty ass work that metal pole, baby. Did you enjoy yourself too?”  
  
Sam was still muzzled, but he managed to shake his head no. Dean chuckled. “Don’t lie to me,” he teased.  
  
“I can recommend some simple restraints that he’d really enjoy,” said the doctor, “if you’re interested? Also I wouldn’t suggest leaving him unplugged for any longer than absolutely necessary, if you want to get him over that aversion to being handled anally.”  
  
“Sounds great, yeah, any advice you’ve got,” said Dean easily. “Man, he’d look great like that.”  
  
“Ok, I’ll send it to your phone.”  
  
“Hey, thanks, doc, I really appreciate you taking care of us.” Dean extended a hand and the doctor shook it firmly. “Say thank you, baby.” He pinched Sam’s side, and Sam couldn’t hold back his squeak of surprise.  
  
“You’re most certainly welcome! You boys enjoy your afternoon.”  
  
Dean led Sam to the side counter, unstrapping the muzzle and sliding it off. He held out his hand and let Sam spit the mouthguard into his palm. Then he dropped both of them into the Used Equipment box, clearly marked by the door.  
  
“This way, sweetheart,” he said, gripping Sam’s shoulder and guiding him back into the hallway.  
  
“I know that was rigged,” Sam gritted out, throat dry, as they walked. “You’re not fooling me.”  
  
“Shh, baby.” Dean steered Sam through a set of double doors and into a large high-ceilinged room, partially lit by what appeared to be a sunroof in the ceiling.  
  
Sam looked around and realized they were in a huge gymnasium, with a running track around the outside and a basketball court in the middle. Through a glass window, he could see a large field, like a soccer pitch, fenced in with what looked like razor wire. It was the first time he’d seen daylight since he’d arrived.  
  
“Shortcut,” said Dean, tugging him along. “You haven’t earned the privilege of coming here yet. C’mon, this way.”  
  
They walked through an unmarked door and emerged back in a seemingly identical hallway.  
  
“That doctor was wrong about me,” Sam declared firmly. “I’m not – I’m not like that, like he said, I don’t enjoy … I’m not a _submissive_.”  
  
“It’s not a weakness, sweetheart,” said Dean, his voice low.  
  
“I’m not. That’s not me.”  
  
One corner of Dean’s lips turned up. “We’ll see,” he promised, softly. “We’ll just see.”

“Nap, dinner, and then early bed,” Dean said, dragging Sam down the hallway. “How do you feel about tacos?”  
  
“I’m not tired,” said Sam sullenly. He tripped along behind Dean, clumsy and wrong footed.  
  
Dean examined his face in the fluorescent light. “I don’t know, baby, you look pretty tired to me,” he said.  
  
“Well I’m not.” Sam scowled. He wasn’t some little kid who needed a nap in the afternoon.  
  
“None of that, sweetheart. We need to keep you well rested so you can be at your best,” said Dean indulgently. “Now c’mon.”  
  
He ushered Sam through a different door than before and into a room Sam had never seen before, with soothing grey walls, decorated with warm wood furniture. It looked entirely different than the rest of the building.  
  
“I know the Facility can feel a little clinical,” said Dean. “These are my quarters, when I'm saying here. It's okay with me if you want to hang out here sometimes.”  
  
He took Sam’s elbow and steered him towards a pillowy bed, made up with dove grey sheets. Sam wondered if it was the same bed in the video from before.  
  
“Now, are you going to lay down for me like a good boy?” asked Dean.  
  
Sam considered. He really _wasn’t_ tired. He opened his mouth to object, but it ended up a coming out in an indignant yelp when something sharp pinched the cheek of his ass.  
  
“Sorry, baby, sh sh sh,” said Dean, rubbing the place where the needle had gone in, and wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist, tugging his weight back to rest against Dean’s chest. “I know, I know, sweetheart. But you had that stubborn look and I need you to listen to me. Come on, Sammy, just over here.”  
  
Dropping the used syringe on the side table, Dean steered Sam over to the bed and bent him forwards, unclipping the link to the cuffs and pulling the leash off his collar. Sam braced himself on the mattress, blinking slowly, already losing feeling in his legs.  
  
Dean took his shoulders and helped him sit, and Sam went with him unwillingly, watching Dean pull aside the sheets. Dean pulled Sam’s white tunic off over his head, lifting Sam’s arms to get them out of the sleeves. Then Dean laid him down, sliding a soft pillow under his head, and pulled the rumpled covers around him.  
  
Dean gently draped one hand over Sam’s eyes, which had the added effect of pressing his head back against the bed. “Just try to rest,” he soothed, bending forward and kissing his temple.  
  
Sam felt his whole body go numb, his head heavy. Dean reached for his arm and straightened it out, resting it on top of the blankets. “Gonna put you on a drip,” he said, bending over Sam’s elbow. “Just some fluids and some vitamins, okay? Liquid lunch, keep you hydrated.”  
  
He didn’t even feel alcohol swab or the needle sinking in, but Sam watched with weighted eyelids as Dean set a IV bag on a hook by the bed. He followed the plastic tubing down to his own motionless arm, where it was secured with a clear piece of tape.  
  
“You take a quick nap and wait for the bag to go in. I’m going to be right here the whole time.” Dean settled on the bed next to Sam, patting Sam’s chest. “When you wake up, I’ll let you pick any book you want to read, that sound good, baby?”  
  
The span between each of Sam’s blinks was getting longer. At some point, his eyes stopped opening altogether, and his vision flickered out.  
  
“There you go,” Dean murmured, “that’s my good boy.”  
  
It was the last thing Sam heard.  
  
 **\--**  
  
When Sam woke up, he was staring at his own reflection. Although he hadn’t noticed it before, there was a mirrored ceiling above the bed.  
  
He lifted his head, slowly, still feeling the effects of the sedative. The IV was gone from his arm, barely a mark to show where it had been. He was swaddled up in the sheets of the bed, and he clumsily tried to push them off, his coordination still poor.  
  
“Hey baby, how you feeling?”  
  
Dean leaned over him, easily drawing back the sheet which had confounded Sam. Gently he pressed Sam back down on his back with a hand on his shoulder. “You look better,” he said, studying his face. “Got your color back. Still a little dozy though, huh? Don’t worry, it’ll pass.”  
  
Sam stared up at him, vaguely, thinking how perfect Dean’s face was, like it was made of porcelain. He raised a hand to touch Dean’s warm cheek, feeling the faint stubble under his palm. Felt real.  
  
“Ooo- kay, hi to you too,” said Dean, sounding bemused. He turned his face to kiss Sam’s wrist, before Sam let his hand drop away, landing back on the bed. “I need to put something in your bottom, baby, you gonna help me with that? You know the doc said you need something up there all the time.”  
  
Sam nodded listlessly, not registering the question. He was preoccupied with watching Dean’s lush mouth as he talked.  
  
“Okay, baby, that’s good.”  
  
Dean lifted up a black rubber dildo, ribbed like the one from the video, but thankfully much smaller. Sam’s eyes skated disinterestedly over it, returning instead to Dean’s kind green eyes.  
  
“You want to get it nice and wet for me?” Dean asked, stroking Sam’s hair. “You want this to go in your mouth, before it goes in your bottom?” Sam didn’t answer, but when Dean gently prodded the tip of it against his lips, he opened for it slowly.  
  
“That it, nice and wide for me, baby,” said Dean, sliding it gently in. “There you go, look at you, swallowing that big nasty cock like a champ. Just relax your throat for me, it’s not going to hurt you as long as you don’t fight it. ”  
  
Just as Sam started to choke, Dean pulled it gently back out, pressing it in again each time. Sam whined, raising his eyes to squint at the ceiling. He stretched his mouth as wide as he could, panting through his nose as Dean worked the toy in and out of his mouth, the ridges bumping against his lips, dipping a little deeper on each pass.  
  
“That’s it, watch yourself in the mirror, baby,” Dean hummed, tilting Sam’s face so he met his own eyes in the reflective surface. “Being so good for me.”  
  
The person looking back at Sam didn’t look like anybody he recognized. He looked so helpless, legs kicking futilely, Dean’s hand on his face, holding his jaw open, lips and tongue working to swallow the rod.  
  
Just then Dean pressed the end forward, seating the whole thing in Sam’s throat. Sam watched the motion of his own throat as he sucked on it, finding the sweet spot where he was able to breathe.  
  
“Beautiful,” Dean whispered, pushing aside the sheet and lifting Sam by the hips, spreading his knees wide and coming to kneel between them. “So beautiful like this, sweetheart.”  
  
Sam grunted, head dropped back on the pillow, as a dry finger rubbed around his rim. “Yes, this is where your pleasure is rooted,” said Dean, “see?” His thumb was stroking Sam’s perineum, making his whole lower body hot.  
  
Sam realized he was suckling at the toy cock in his throat, using the action to soothe himself down. Dean was right – so long as he didn’t fight it, it wasn’t choking him. And the feeling of taking it from both ends – the pressure at the back of his throat, and Dean’s finger sliding cautiously into him – the sight of his own naked body in the mirror–  
  
Just then Dean blew lightly over the sticky-wet tip of Sam’s cock, and just that much was enough to bring him over. Sam came, moaning around the cock in his throat, feeling himself start to choke until Dean reached up to extract it all the way.  
  
“Good job, Sammy, you were really close that time. Keep still now, here we go,” said Dean, nudging the wet tip of it against Sam’s twitching asshole.  
  
Sam was so loose and relaxed that just the slick of his own saliva, plus whatever lube was left over from the morning, had it sliding easily up into him. Each bump on the shaft felt like a bolt of pleasure.  
  
“Imagine having a whole cock up here, right?” teased Dean, getting the toy seated properly. He twisted it, and Sam jolted weakly. “Real thing’s a lot thicker.” Sam didn’t bother trying to close his legs, letting Dean trace around his crack, sliding from his balls to his stretched pucker. “See, it feels good to be touched here, doesn’t it? Yeah, you like this. That’s a good boy.”  
  
Sam closed his eyes, not wanting to watch his reflection accepting the attention. As Dean wiped him off, and then tenderly dressed him in a clean pair of boxer shorts, he kept his eyes averted the entire time.  
  
They spent the afternoon reading – Dean, as he shyly explained, had put together a collection of titles he thought Sammy might like.  
  
Eagerly, Sam started sorting books into piles (already read and needed to read again) before settling down to pour through his favorites. Dean watched with fond amusement, seemingly preferring to flick through some kind of Asian graphic novel.  
  
Hours passed before a bell rang, announcing the delivery of a dinner tray at a small table in the other room. “Here baby,” said Dean, guiding Sam down to kneel at his knee, close to the arm of his chair.  
  
It should have been demeaning – servile – but Dean’s arm was warm around his shoulder, tugging him in close, and his other hand was brushing Sam’s hair back from his face. It was a strange angle, looking up into Dean’s attentive face.  
  
He selected a mini stuffed pepper and brought it to Sam’s lips, helping him eat the delicate morsel. Sam noted with amusement that he parted his own lips as well, as though encouraging Sam to imitate him.  
  
“S’that good?” he hummed, using his thumb to wipe oil from Sam’s lower lip. He sorted through the remaining peppers on the plate, discarding any that he judged too small, bruised, or understuffed. It was as though there was nothing more important than providing nutritious food to Sam.  
  
Sam should have felt humiliated. He could feed himself, he wasn’t entirely helpless. But he forgot to even try to lift his hands. Instead, he opened his mouth obediently as Dean slowly coaxed him into eating three steak and chicken tacos, Mexican rice, and salsa. He also worked his way through two big glasses of iced tea. Dean guided the glass to his lips each time before Sam himself even realized he was thirsty.  
  
“There’s that appetite back,” Dean said, when they were finally finished. “Gotta feed you up if you’re going to be my big boy.”  
  
The food was all much healthier and fresher than Sam was used to – he typically subsisted on takeout and junk food. “Gotta keep you healthy, baby,” said Dean, when he mentioned it. “Only the best for you.”  
  
Sam didn’t know what to say when Dean said things like that.  
  
“Alright, sweetheart,” said Dean, brushing off his hands. “Now you’ve got a choice. If you’d like, we could go back to the cot in the observation room and you can sleep there for the night. Or, you can sleep here in my bed with me. I promise, no sex, just sleeping. What do you say?”  
  
Sam licked his lips. “I’d rather stay here,” he whispered.  
  
“Ok. That’s fine. But before you lie down, there’s one more thing I need for you to do for me tonight,” said Dean. “I want to test a theory, okay?”  
  
Sam shrugged, indicating he would at least consider it.  
  
“Come sit here, next to me. No, on my right.” He patted the mattress. “Here, baby.” Tired and overwhelmed, Sam sat. Dean wrapped an arm around his back and tugged him in close, their sides pressing warmly together. “Tell me, sweetheart - have you ever been spanked before?”  
  
Blankly, Sam shook his head no. His parents had never believed in that kind of thing, always preferring to put him in timeout when he misbehaved.  
  
“A lot of subs enjoy pain,” said Dean. “Not all of them, of course. But I think you might really enjoy yourself. Will you let me show you?”  
  
Obviously Sam’s first instinct was to say no. He didn’t want to have his ass hit, even in a silly way used for correcting little kids. But Dean had demonstrated a number of times that he didn’t actually require Sam’s permission to do anything he wanted. And maybe this was the chance to prove Dean wrong, once and for all. If this thing Dean said about him – that he was a _submissive_ – was true, then the spanking would be enjoyable … but that was crazy. Sam knew he wasn’t that messed up. He’d stubbed his toe before, broke an arm once in high school, and he hadn’t enjoyed it at all. Pain wasn’t something good, and he avoided it, just like everyone else.  
  
So he’d prove once and for all, that he wasn’t what Dean said.  
  
He shrugged again, uncertainly.  
  
“Good boy.” Dean used the arm he had around Sam’s back to help arrange him the way he wanted. “That’s it, just lay like that across my lap. Cross your wrists behind your back. Turn your face on the mattress so you can breathe.”  
  
Obediently Sam pressed his cheek into the sheets, playing along. Dean rubbed his back soothingly, his palms tracing the dip of Sam’s spine right above the waistband of his shorts. “Gonna take these off,” he rumbled, voice steady and low. He gently tugged Sam’s shorts down, leaving them bunched around Sam’s thighs.  
  
Sam squirmed, feeling ridiculously vulnerable and exposed, and ridiculous for agreeing to this. Dean patted the swell of his butt reassuringly. “Remember, this isn’t a punishment,” he said. “If I punish you, you’ll know it. This is something I want to do, that I want you to experience from me. Okay?”  
  
Reluctantly, Sam nodded.  
  
“I’m going to start now, okay?”  
  
Without hesitation, Dean brought his hand down hard on Sam’s sore, stuffed, naked ass. Once –twice – three times. Hard.  
  
It hurt more than Sam had expected. He tried to shift, but Dean adjusted his weight to keep him in place.  
  
“Don’t fight it, baby,” said Dean. “Relax for me. Breathe.”  
  
He laid down another series of smacks, concentrating on the soft underside of Sam’s ass, right where he sat down. They stung horribly, and Sam fidgeted. Dean soothed him, rubbing the stinging flesh.  
  
“I could use a paddle, but I’m not going to. I’m going to use my hand, so you’ll know that I’m feeling it just like you.”  
  
He kept smacking, the sound like a bright _pop_ every time, slaps on top of slaps. It shouldn’t have hurt so much. This was a punishment for little kids, and Sam was all grown up. But Dean was strong, his hand hard.  
  
At first Sam hissed, moaned – then he screamed and struggled – Dean just pinned his wrists and kept spanking. Eventually he cried, sobbing, his nose and his mouth filling up with salt. He wished that Dean had gagged him, so at least he would have been able to keep the shameful noises to himself. But except for the cuffs on his wrists, only Dean’s free hand kept him in place.  
  
And still the slaps landed on his unprotected backside, each one just as hard as the last.  
  
Finally, exhausted, Sam let himself go still, and the pain took him to a new place, somewhere clear and quiet. He stopped fighting Dean’s hand and just took it, anticipating each blow before it landed. Gradually he noticed that his cock was tingling, filling as each stroke pushed him forward against Dean’s lap.  
  
Sam could feel that Dean was hard too, but instead of rubbing up against him, Dean just moved his thighs to trap Sam’s dick between them.  
  
“That’s it, baby,” he said, cracking him hard across both cheeks. “Does that feel good?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam whispered.  
  
Dean kept up the motion, rocking and rhythmic, and it didn’t hurt anymore. It actually felt – incredible, like nothing else Sam had ever felt before, like it was carrying him somewhere else.  
  
“You want it harder?” asked Dean. “You want the paddle now, my belt?”  
  
“Harder,” Sam moaned, barely aware of what he was saying. His master was providing him with pain, and he accepted it, uncomplaining, willing to take whatever he was given.  
  
Dean cracked him harder across his vulnerable thighs, and Sam groaned, a thick, dirty sound, and came, splattering all over Dean’s thighs and the bed covers. His face was pressed down in the sheets, muffling his cries.  
  
“That’s my good boy,” said Dean, rubbing his back, his sore, stinging backside. “My good, good boy. Did so good. You’re done, baby. All done with that.”  
  
Sam let himself be sat up, leaning heavily against Dean. His eyes were itchy and swollen, and he was low on energy – he let Dean move him with an arm around his waist, his head drooping against Dean’s shoulder. He felt like he was drowning in syrup, his limbs hardly able to move.  
  
Dean got him laid him on his stomach on the bed, his shorts still down around his thighs, and fetched cool towels to lay over his backside. Then he sat next to Sam on the bed, stroking his back. The strange floating feeling wore off slowly, and Dean lifted the towels to smooth salve all over Sam’s sore ass.  
  
“Can you sleep on your belly?” he asked.  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
After a few minutes Dean turned out the lamp, stretching out beside Sam with an arm circling his shoulders, tucking him in against his side. Sam forgot to make any protest; instead he allowed his head to be guided to Dean’s neck, his face turned into that warm, salty-smelling skin. He smiled at the now-familiar sensation of Dean’s hand, moving through his hair.  
  
“So proud of you today,” Dean whispered.  
  
Sam shook his head. Dean talked about being a submissive like it was a good thing, not like it was just a weakness. It didn’t make any sense. For some reason, he felt his eyes burn with tears.  
  
“Shh, none of that. Just try to get some sleep,” said Dean.  
  
As though his body itself obeyed Dean’s commands, Sam was drifting off before the end of the sentence.  
 

  
Sam woke up the next morning with his head on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean’s hand draped possessively over his backside, fingers just barely grazing Sam’s crack. Sam was on his side, the way he preferred to sleep, curled around Dean and anchored by Dean’s arm around his waist. He felt safe and warm.  
  
He lifted his head to peer into Dean’s sleeping face, but as though Dean could feel that he was being watched, green eyes slid open and met Sam’s gaze.  
  
“Good morning, baby,” he murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to Sam’s forehead. He tugged Sam back down, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him close, and rubbed his back while they dozed a little longer.  
  
 **\--**  
  
The next time Sam awoke, it was to the uncomfortable sensation of drool sliding out of his open mouth. He opened his eyes: he was alone. He stretched luxuriously, which was cut off with a yelp at the feeling of _something_ moving inside of him. Something was teasing at the entrance of his anus from the inside, nudging insistently at his hole.  
  
He moaned, loudly, squirming involuntarily. Whatever had been shoved up his ass, it didn’t feel like a solid piece; every time he moved at all, it _rolled_ inside of him, brushing against the sweet spot of his prostate, which caused him to squirm again, which started the whole cycle all over again.  
  
With effort, he forced his hips still and laid back, panting. What the hell? He’d been asleep. How the heck had something been shoved up his ass without waking him up? He had a sudden mental image of someone lifting his legs, while he was still unconscious, exposing his naked ass, and shivered.  
  
“You havin’ a good time, baby?” asked Dean, his voice warm. Freshly-shaven and pink from his shower, he was leaning in the corner, watching Sam with dark, hungry eyes. Sam moaned softly, his dick diamond hard. He tried to reach down and feel what was up his butt, but Dean came to sit beside Sam on the bed, catching his hands and interlacing their fingers. “Leave that,” he said.  
  
Sam hissed, writhing and bucking against the lazy roil of pressure inside of him, feeling like he was going to go mad. Every time his prostate got another nudge, he could feel more liquid dribbling out the end of his cock. “Are you – going to – _do_ anything – about this?” he gasped, motioning down to his lower half to indicate the general region he was talking about.  
  
“I don’t think you need any help,” said Dean, chuckling. He reached out a finger and traced up the inside of Sam’s thighs, making Sam thrust up wildly at nothing, his asshole spasming, a high-pitched whine escaping his lips, as Sam clenched his eyes closed, face scrunched up in pleasure.  
  
“You want me to pull them out? I think you’ll really like that, baby,” said Dean, and Sam nodded frantically, his face wet with tears.  
  
Dean gently spread his legs – Sam hissed again at the change in angle, flopping like a hooked fish – and took hold of what felt like a thin cord, giving it a light tug.  
  
Sam covered his face with his arms and screamed. The feeling of that plastic piece sliding out of his slick, tender hole was indescribable, and as one part moved, the rest of it all shifted inside him.  
  
“That feel good, baby?” Dean hummed. “Gonna pull out the next one.”  
  
They were _beads_ , Sam realized, round plastic globes strung together like pearls on necklace, but all different sizes, and when Dean pulled on the string they all rolled together, the weight of the last one pulling the one before it. It felt sort of like taking a giant dump, but it also felt incredible, and as the thickest one forced its way out of him, Sam felt himself starting to come from the pressure of the smallest one still inside of him.  
  
“That’s it, there you go, just like that, just from your bottom,” Dean coaxed, “you can do it, baby. Deep breaths. Here we go.” He gave the cord a good pull, and at the same moment as the whole thing was extracted from his ass with a plop, Sam came violently all over himself.  
  
“Knew you could do it, baby,” said Dean, patting Sam’s chest. Sam was still panting, his hips twitching, clear fluid dribbling irregularly out of the tip of his cock. He had never come so _fiercely_ before, like something had ripped it out of him.  
  
Dean climbed up on the bed next to him, absentmindedly wiping off Sam’s stomach with his hand. His touch set off another pulse.  
  
“Stoppit,” Sam grumbled, screwing up his face when Dean slapped his messy hands down Sam’s sides. Dean just chuckled and inched closer against him, nuzzling into his neck.  
  
They laid together until Sam’s stomach rumbled and Dean’s face creased into a smirk. “Hungry, huh?”  
  
The morning was a repeat of the previous, except that Sam didn’t bother to resist, either the food Dean fed him, or the hands that gently washed him all over.  
  
“Such a good boy today,” Dean hummed, toweling him dry with a warm, soft towel. Sam tipped his head back to let him towel his hair.  
  
He submitted to being dressed in a white vest, holding still while Dean fastened a thin chain around his waist. “Gonna try out a suggestion from Doc Robert,” Dean warned, sliding a thicker plug into Sam’s ready hole.  
  
Sam kept still as Dean used a white strip of fabric to truss Sam’s cock and balls, tight enough that he grunted at the pressure. Turning Sam around by the hips, he passed the thin end of the sash between Sam’s legs, hooking it to the back of the chain just above the swell of Sam’s stuffed ass. It sat uncomfortably in his asscrack like a thong.  
  
“Pretty, baby,” said Dean, cuffing Sam’s hands in front of him and clipping the cuffs to the belly chain. If Sam tugged, he was putting pressure on his own swaddled genitals.  
  
“Let’s go,” said Dean, opening the bedroom door.  
  
Sam felt ridiculous with his dick hanging out. He tugged self-consciously on his belt, wincing as he accidentally tugged on his trapped balls. “Stop that,” said Dean, reaching out to grab his hand and holding it at his side. “Looks great on you. Now c’mon, sweetheart.”  
  
Another set of endless hallways.  
  
“A few more weeks and you’ll be one of the best subs to come out of the Facility,” said Dean as they walked together - and Sam briefly whited out at the thought of _a few more weeks_.  Although actually, Sam had no idea how long he had been there so far. Physical time didn't seem to exist anymore - it had no bearing on when he ate, when he slept.  
  
Only Dean did that.  
  
“In the time you’ve been here, you haven’t had to make very many choices ... as much as possible, I’ve taken that burden away from you, haven’t I?”  
  
This was true; Sam had been restrained almost the entire time, drugged for part of it, made to accept whatever Dean wanted to do with him.  
  
“I’ve been trying to teach you the pleasure of surrendering,” Dean continued, “and I think I’m starting to succeed. Hmm?”  
  
No comment from Sam, who was staring straight ahead.  
  
“But now I want to teach you to _choose_ submission,” said Dean, his voice firm. “I want you to acknowledge to yourself what you want, and learn to expect for it from your master. To _accept_ it from your master, willingly, whatever he or she chooses to give you.”  
  
Sam was confused why Dean would have added ' _or she_.' Obviously Dean was his master, and obviously he was a man. Why hadn’t he said, ‘accept what I chose to give you?’ But there was no opportunity to ask, because Dean was still talking.  
  
“I want you to show me that you’re ready to move forward.”  
  
Dean pushed open a set of double doors, and Sam stumbled forward, eager to see where he’d been taken as Dean flicked on a row of lights.  
  
They were in the gymnasium. Blankly, he looked back at Dean.  
  
“Go on, then,” said Dean, grinning, cracking Sam across the ass. “Go take a nice walk. Stretch your legs.”  
  
Sam examined the running track that circled the field – he used to enjoy a jog after work, and it had always been a stress reliever for him during his final exams. He hadn’t had much motivation to continue, these past few years. Uncertainly, he trotted forward.  
  
It was awkward with his hands locked in front of him, and his cock and balls trussed together, to say nothing of the plug buried in his ass, which reminded him of its presence at odd moments – but his legs were free. Although he was barefoot, he found he could maintain a slow, loping pace around the outside of the field.  
  
After one lap, Dean waved him over. “If you’re good, I’ll let you come here with your hands free some time,” Dean promised, sliding a finger into the cuffs around Sam’s wrists to check the tension.  
  
“Can I take off the belt?” he asked, his voice low. “I mean – next time?”  
  
Dean smiled, patting his cheek. “By the time I’m done,” he said, “you’re not going to want to have your bottom empty. You’ll be begging me to give you something to put inside yourself.”  
  
Sam blinked, trying to wrap his head around what Dean was saying.  
  
There was a variety of sports and exercise equipment neatly stacked in the corner, and Dean examined the rack thoughtfully, then selected a soft foam soccer ball and tossed it at Sam’s feet.  
  
“Kick this around,” he suggested.  
  
Sam didn’t answer, but he accepted the addition, lightly tapping the ball with his feet and making a slow second lap. He managed to keep a steady pace, slowly increasing to a trot to keep up with the rolling ball. It felt great, after being pinned down for so long, to get some exercise, feel his blood pumping again. To concentrate on nothing but keeping his body in motion.  
  
When he finished a second lap he looked up to realize that the gym was no longer deserted. Cas was walking around the loop, his hands behind his back, expression peaceful.  
  
“Do you want to go walk with Cas?” Dean asked.  
  
Sam didn’t know if he wanted to spend time with Dean’s old sub or not, but he wanted to keep stretching his legs, so he nodded uncertainly.  
  
Dean patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Go on, baby, Cas is nice,” he said, apparently misunderstanding Sam’s hesitation. “Go play. I’m going to talk to Bobby in the other room, but I won’t be out of sight, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, his heart rate picking up. This was the first time Dean had left him alone since he’d taken him back to his own room.  
  
“Hello, Sam,” said Cas calmly, as he approached.  
  
“Hi,” said Sam.  
  
“Would you like to walk with me?”  
  
“Um, okay.” Sam slunk into place at Cas’s side, feeling ungainly and awkward next to that compact, upright figure. It occurred to him suddenly that Cas must have looked much more natural next to Dean.  
  
“You’re very lucky to have Dean as your trainer,” remarked Cas calmly, as they walked together.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Sam glanced over.  
  
“Yes. All of the doms at the Facility are very good, but Dean is by far the best.”  
  
Sam looked away.  “I bet he is.”  
  
“Most of the doms relish their personal power over a sub,” Cas continued thoughtfully. “That’s the aspect they most enjoy. But not Dean – he simply has a natural ability to determine exactly what a sub needs, and the desire to give it to them. It really is all about the sub, with him.”  
  
Sam tried to pretend he wasn’t bothered by the concept that Cas had been with Dean, or the memory of Cas, kneeling on the bed with Dean’s cock up his ass. Dean had probably called him _baby_ and _sweetheart_ , too, had probably stroked his hair in the same way, kissed his temples. Sam pictured Dean doing the things with Cas that he refused to do with him; Cas sucking contentedly on Dean’s dick, which Sam had to imagine, having never even seen it properly; Cas, kissing Dean’s beautiful mouth. The thought made Sam feel kind of sick.  
  
He glanced through the glass window between the rooms; Dean wasn’t even watching them. He was talking to that other dom, Bobby, a scruffy-looking older man with short reddish hair and a straggly beard. Sam was pretty sure Bobby had been among the men who kidnapped him from the apartment. They were gesticulating wildly in a manner that suggested to Sam that they were talking about sports.  
  
“Sam, is everything alright? Oh – ” Cas cut himself off. There was another sub on the track in front of them, a petulant-looking man with straight brown hair.  
  
“We probably shouldn’t walk this way,” said Cas. “Let’s go back.”  
  
“Why?” Sam examined the other sub with interest.  
  
“That’s Adam. He just washed out of the program and Michael is sending him home today.”  
  
“Really?” Sam was immediately curious. This was one of the volunteers he had heard about, but other than Cas he hadn’t had the chance to talk to one yet. He continued along the track, all the way to the far wall where the brown-haired man was lingering.  
  
“Hey, you! Yeah, Adam. You want to come over here?”  
  
“Sam, you don’t need to be speaking with him,” said Cas, sounding upset. “We shouldn’t be here.”  
  
“I can still talk to people, Cas,” said Sam irritably. “They can’t keep me alone forever.”  
  
“I’ll tell Dean,” said Cas stubbornly.  
  
But Dean and Bobby were all the way next door.  
  
“Whatever. You do that.” Sam wheeled away and went to stand next to the brown-haired sub. “Is it true that you’re leaving?” he asked breathlessly.  
  
“Yeah. This was a mistake,” said the boy bitterly. He looked Sam over. “I’ve heard about you," he said.  "You’re the natural."  
  
Sam supposed that he must be considered somewhat unusual, if all of the other subs in the facility were volunteers.  
  
“Sam, you shouldn’t be talking to him,” said Cas loudly. For a sub, he didn’t seem to be having any problems being assertive at the moment.  
  
“Cas, keep walking,” said Sam.  
  
“I think it’s crap, what they did to you,” said the strange boy, Adam. “Keeping you here against your will, that’s not right.”  
  
“I felt that way at first,” said Sam shyly, “but …” he swallowed. “I don’t know. There’s something about all this – ”  
  
“It’s just brainwashing,” Adam said. “It’s all shit. They bring you out here, cut off from everything you know, and they brainwash you into believing they know what’s best for you. It’s no different than a cult.”  
  
Knowingly, he glanced over at Sam. “It’s the kindness, right? That’s the hardest part. But the kindness is just another way to reprogram you. Do you know what’s going to happen, at the end of all this? They’re going to auction you off to some rich asshole, as a pet.”  
  
“That’s not true,” said Sam.  
  
“Sam, come back now,” said Cas.  
  
“It is true. Ask him.” The stranger nodded at Cas. “He knows the truth.”  
  
“It’s not like that – ” Cas started.  
  
“Wait. You mean, I’m not going to be able to stay with Dean?”  
  
“Stay with _Dean_?” The boy snickered. “Of course you’re not.”  
  
“Sam, you have to trust the Facility to do the right thing for you,” said Cas.  
  
“They’re going to send me away?” Sam felt like the world was collapsing. “To a stranger?”  
  
None of it contradicted anything Dean had told him – but Sam was flushed with the sense of shame and betrayal all the same.  
  
“I’m getting Dean,” said Cas, turning away.  
  
“Quick, kid, this is your chance,” said the brown-haired man. “You get over that fence, and it’s barely a five mile hike to town.” He pointed out the window to the wire fence around the soccer pitch. It was tall, but not impossible to get over.  
  
“They would catch me,” said Sam numbly. “Dean would find me.”  
  
“I’ll distract `em, keep them off your back.” The stranger was excited, clearly relishing the chance to stick it to the Facility. “I’ll help you bust through the door, you just run. I’ll hold `em off you as long as I can. But we better hurry, Poster Boy’s already going to be fetching his master.”  
  
 _His master_ , thought Sam. Dean didn’t belong to him, any more than he belonged to Cas.  
  
“Hurry up, kid, this is your chance,” said the stranger. Sam looked up to the top of the fence. With his height, he might have just enough of a head start to get over, and then drop down the other side.  
  
“I don’t … I don’t know,” he said, frightened.  
  
“C’mon, kid, even if you’re a sub, you’re not a slave,” said the stranger. “This is your chance. Go!”  
  
He threw open the door; immediately an alarm started to sound. Knowing that any more hesitation would doom his possibility of escape, Sam ducked under the shorter man’s arm and out through the door. Beyond the fence he could see nothing but a dry, rocky expanse – but at least it was easy to get traction on the soft grass of the soccer pitch. Within seconds he had reached the wire mesh.  
  
He pulled himself up with his fingers, snapping the chain between his wrists with the weight of his body against the wire. He wished he had time to break the belly chain too, but he only had seconds to climb, using the speed he had accumulated to boost himself up and over. Luckily it was barbed wire, not razor, that lined the top, so Sam worked himself over it with no more than a long tear in his cotton vest. He landed hard on the rocky earth of the other side and started to run.  
  
Distantly, behind him, he thought he could hear shouting, but Sam didn’t slow down. He forced himself to keep moving, never looking back.

  
**(TBC)**


	3. Claimed

  


  
Sam ran.  
  
Around him all he could see were rocky hills studded with short, stunted trees and bare soil, stretching out to the horizon. Apparently the Facility was located deep the California scrublands, hours away from his apartment in Palo Alto. Glancing behind him, the building from which he had come was only a small, unassuming bunker; clearly most of it must have been located underground.  
  
As he scrambled up the nearest shallow slope, he did his best to keep aiming in the direction that Adam had pointed, telling himself that five miles wasn’t really so far – he had jogged much further, in his high school track days. If he could reach the town by nightfall, there was the possibility he could hide somewhere long enough to call the police, or at least his parents.  
  
But with no shoes, it didn’t take long to cut the soles of his feet open on the jagged ground. And he was out of shape, his breath coming in desperate gasps. He wished he could stop and untie the bindings off his cock and balls, work the plug out of his ass, but he didn’t have even a moment to spare. He forced himself to keep sprinting, hoping he was still headed in the right direction, certain that the men from the Facility would be close behind him. They only had to follow the trail of blood.  
  
When he finally crested the second, taller hill, his heart sank; there, less than a quarter-mile out, was the obvious line of a fence, dark against the landscape. As he got closer he realized it was even worse that he’d feared - the fence was at least twelve feet tall, and well-maintained. It ran in both directions as far as he could see.  
  
Resolutely, he reached it and forced himself to climb, wincing in pain as the wire cut into his injured feet. Maybe if could at least get to the top, he could still find some way over -  
  
The guards appeared out of nowhere. He was no more than a few feet off the ground when they grabbed his legs and pulled, slamming his face into the mesh. Sam groaned, wondering for a moment if they’d broken his nose. There were two of them, one tall enough to reach up and haul him down off the fence.  
  
When his feet hit the dirt, he used his superior height to twist out of the man’s grip, but by then the second guy joined in, assisting his partner in knocking Sam’s legs out from under him and forcing him to the ground. Someone kicked him in the stomach, hard enough to drive the air out of him, and his arms were wrenched painfully behind his back.  
  
Sam had a moment of panic. These guys were really not messing around. They would kick his ass. He was totally screwed.  
  
“Hey, pretty boy,” said one, pushing Sam’s face into the sandy soil while the other one straddled his legs. Sam fought back, but his hands were still pinned. “Settle down, now.”  
  
He managed to kick out, catching someone in the knee, but then his ankles was caught and held. “Hehe, lookit here, he’s practically naked. And he’s got something up his butt.”  
  
“Don’t,” Sam begged, trying to escape the roving hands. “Please, just let me go!”  
  
Somebody chuckled unpleasantly. “Now why would we do something like that?”  
  
“Hey! Get the hell off of him!” _Dean_. Sam surprised himself with the hot rush of his relief, even before the guards released his arms and legs. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”  
  
Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulders and pulled him up off of the ground. “Give me a blanket,” he said, talking to someone behind him. “He’s cold. C’mere, baby.”  
  
Sam was sobbing as Dean wrapped him in something soft and warm, then tugged him in against Dean’s chest. Strong arms closed around him, one moving immediately up to bury in his hair.  
  
“It’s alright, baby, I found you, I have you now.”  
  
It shouldn’t have been comforting, but it was.  
  
“You alright, Sammy? You okay?” Dean cupped his neck. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, they’re not trained to deal with subs, they’re just – guards. They’re supposed to keep people away from the Facility. They hurt you?” He took Sam under the chin, squinting at the bruising around his nose, tilting his face to see the damage. “Jesus. Gonna get you some pain killers, doc’ll fix you right up.”  
  
He hauled Sam to his feet and kept him pinned against his side with an arm around his shoulders.  
  
“S’okay, baby, s’okay now. You guys - get back to your posts. I’ll deal with you later.” Dean showed the guards a security badge and they shrugged and walked off, grumbling.  
  
“Help me with him,” said Dean, and Bobby came around on the other side, lifting Sam’s arm over his shoulder. “Cas, bring the truck. I don’t want him walking like this.”  
  
Without trying to resist, Sam moved where he was directed. Still wrapped in the wool blanket, he was loaded into a black jeep and settled at Dean’s side, cinched in close. Dean nuzzled against his hair, his cheek, his neck. “Gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he murmured.  
  
“What Adam said …” Sam rasped, momentarily unable to continue – he broke off in a rough cough. “Is it - true?”  
  
Dean rubbed his back, guiding Sam’s head against his shoulder while he regained his breath. “Sam, you’ve got to trust me,” he said finally, “or this is all for nothing. Do you trust me?”  
  
Sam closed his eyes, letting Dean stroke his hair. Slowly, he nodded his head. Of course he trusted Dean, to look out for him and do what was best for him.  
  
Dean kissed his forehead. “Then I guess you have all the information you need, don’t you.”  
  
 **\--**  
  
The doctor pronounced nothing broken, but provided anti-inflammatories and Ibuprofen that Dean insisted on feeding him by hand. Sam opened obediently and swallowed when the pills were placed on his tongue. They washed his stinging feet, then swathed them in bandages, and the pain faded.  
  
“I’m sorry you got hurt, baby,” said Dean, studying the bruises.  
  
The door opened and a number of white-coated men came in, talking together in low voices. Sam buried his head in Dean’s shirt, hiding, not listening to what was said.  
  
“It’s alright,” Dean was saying, “he just got a little freaked out. He’s fine now.”  
  
“We’ll take him tonight, just to be sure,” said one of the men. A stranger, no-one Sam recognized. Sam waited for Dean to speak up, to say that Sam wasn’t going _anywhere_ , but instead Dean patted his shoulder and stood up. “I’ll walk with you,” he said.  
  
Dazedly, Sam walked alongside Dean as the men led them back through the maze of hallways and into a familiar room; the dormitory full of cots that Sam remembered from his first night in the Facility.  
  
“He gets cold at night,” said Dean. “Make sure he gets an extra blanket, and cover him well.”  
  
Unresisting, Sam was guided into one of the many beds. An unfamiliar hand on his shoulder pressed him to lie back. He looked around for Dean, who was standing in the doorway, watching quietly. Sam laid down and let his wrists and ankles be restrained, like the night he’d arrived.  
  
“Be good, baby,” said Dean softly, turning away.  
  
Unfamiliar hands spread a thick woolen blanket over Sam. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see a stranger’s face looking down at him.  
  
Then he was left alone.  
  
Sam tested the straps, but he knew already that they wouldn’t give. They weren’t hurting him, not like handcuffs or ropes might have done; they were built for this - utilitarian, unattractive, but rock solid. He would be kept still, almost comfortably but not quite.  
  
Sam was pretty sure that, the last time he had slept in restraints, Dean had actually sat up with him all night. But this time, there was no one to feed him orange slices or pet his hair. Apparently no one worried that he might need to pee. Every few hours he saw the lean shadow of a nurse, stopping by the door to glance in at him; but Dean didn’t come.  
  
It wore on him, more and more as the night went on. Since he had arrived here, he’d barely been out of Dean’s sight; Dean had been there at every step, encouraging him, fussing over him, babying him. Treating him like the most important person in the world. Now he was alone, deserted by the one person who gave a damn about him.  
  
If he had escaped, thought Sam fuzzily, as the hours passed and his shoulders slowly began to cramp – if he had succeeded, escaped the cruel clutch of those linebacker guards, made it somehow over the fence and through the wilderness and back to his old, abandoned life –  
  
He would be alone.  
  
His family was on the other side of the country, and they had been angry with him ever since he dropped out of school, treating him with that icy formality which was so close to distain. He barely heard from them. Over the last few years he had dropped away from his few friends, so that his whole life had become that job, thankless and underpaid and unchallenging. Even his coworkers didn’t seem to like him.  
  
Sam thought back over his life. The realization that he couldn’t hack that last year of school, didn’t _want_ to – trying to make choices for himself about where he wanted to live, what he wanted to do. That strange, formless helplessness – he couldn’t decide, didn’t want to have to make these decisions.  
  
He remembered the relief of dropping out of his computer science program, taking a job where his only responsibility was to please his bosses, fixing computers. But they hadn’t appreciated it, hadn’t responded the way he’d needed them to. He’d become smaller and greyer over the years, fading almost out of sight.  
  
That was what he had to go back to. Granted, he would have his _freedom_ , whatever that meant – he would not be literally strapped down to a bed when he misbehaved. But if it was the freedom to sit alone in his rat-trap apartment, what was that really worth?  
  
Dean believed that he was special – a natural submissive. Dean believed that he would never be happy, never be fulfilled, until he accepted that part of himself, until he embraced it and lived it every day. Until then he would always just be a shadow in his own life, denying what he really wanted.  
  
If he had succeeded in escaping, this is what it would feel like, all the time. Neglected, isolated, ignored.  
  
Sam knew he was crying through his punishment like a little _bitch_ , but he didn’t care. He wanted his master to come and comfort him, like he had all those other times – wanted Dean’s warm hands on his cheek, Dean’s gruff voice calling him sweetheart. But Dean wasn’t coming, because Sam tried to run away, and he hurt his master’s feelings, and he’d been a bad, disobedient sub. Sam sobbed, shaking with the force of it, until finally the light in his head switched off and he finally fell into a miserable sleep.  
  
Sam woke up snotty and headache-y, and he was still strapped down on the hospital cot. But he couldn’t have been lying awake and wretched for more than an hour or two before the door opened.  
  
“There’s my good boy,” said a voice, the voice he’d been waiting for all night. Now Sam fought the straps for real, pulling uselessly on his limbs, trying to get to his master.  
  
“Shh, baby, easy,” said Dean. “Lie back and let me get you out of these.”  
  
Sam went limp, whining in his throat as Dean worked the buckles at his wrists, then helped him sit up. Dean undid his ankles and then went to the side table for a glass of water. “How’s that, sweetheart? You want something to drink?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, delicately accepting a sip from the glass Dean held to his lips. “I’m so, so, sorry.”  
  
“Sh, your punishment is over now,” Dean said, coaxing him to take another swallow. “You’re forgiven, okay? The slate is clean. Now come back to the room, we’ll find you something for that headache.”  
  
Sam nodded, preparing to get down off the cot. But Dean stopped him, his eyes fixed on Sam’s. “Listen,” he said, seriously. “I want you to know that you can leave here any time you want. Okay? You don’t need to run away. If you don’t want to be here – I’ve got a sweet ride, I’ll drive you back to your apartment myself. Okay?”  
  
Not sure what to say, Sam didn’t answer. Gently, Dean guided Sam’s chin up so he could see in his face. “You understand me, Sammy?” he asked, holding eye contact.  
  
“Yes,” Sam whispered. “I understand.”  
  
“So, do you want me to go get the car? You can be home by tonight. Is that what you want?”  
  
The thing Sam had fought for was being offered to him, freely. But everything was so different now. Sam felt like an entirely different person. “I want to stay,” he whispered.  
  
“You sure, baby?” Dean almost sounded like he was trying to convince him the other way.  
  
Sam nodded. Whatever happened, he was on this track until the end.  
  
“Okay.” Dean kissed his forehead. “Well, come on, then.”  
  
 **\--**  
  
The next day was spent entirely in Dean’s bed. Sam lay with an ice pack on his nose, and Dean’s hand on some part of his body at all times.  
  
Sam spent much of the time sleeping, but when he was awake he wanted Dean’s eyes on him, wanted to be close to him, to feel the heat of him. He was terrified that Dean would make a move to go, but he didn’t. He didn’t leave Sam for a second. They laid together, Dean reading over some kind of automotive manual with his hand absentmindedly scratching Sam’s scalp, his thumb pressing a warm oval in the secret space behind Sam’s ear. Sam did nothing, thought nothing. He just laid still and soaked up the warmth of Dean’s touch. One small part of him was embarrassed to be so needy - but most of him loved the attention, and craved it.  
  
Lunch was brought to them by one of the guards, and Sam looked over to Dean, prepared to kneel on the floor. “Go ahead and feed yourself,” Dean said. “But good boy, waiting for directions.”  
  
They ate together, in silence.  
  
“Are you mad at me?” asked Sam, finally, when they finished.  
  
“Sweetheart, I’m just sorry that you got hurt,” said Dean, stroking the back of his hand. “I’m not angry. I expected you to make mistakes. I would be worried if you _didn’t_ screw up at some point; everyone does.”  
  
“Not Cas,” Sam muttered darkly.  
  
“Cas?” Dean looked blank. “What does he have to do with this?”  
  
Sam looked away. “Nothing,” he said. Stupid to bring it up, stupid to still be worrying about it.  
  
“It was different with Cas –” started Dean, immediately correcting himself. “Different with every sub. They each need special handling to be secure.”  
  
That wasn’t what Sam wanted to hear. He wanted to hear that Dean loved him _most_ , that he didn’t care about Cas that way. Mutinously, he looked away.  
  
Dean sighed. “Cas came to the Facility having already been a 24/7 sub,” he said, carefully. “He didn’t have as much to learn as you.”  
  
Sam’s ears perked up.  
  
“His dom sponsored him to be professionally trained,” Dean continued. “He was my first assignment. But his dom was an asshole, didn’t have any idea how to treat a sub like Cas. And Cas didn’t understand that he deserved better. The Facility ended up refunding his money and keeping Cas ourselves.”  
  
Sam thought about Cas, about his confidence, his surety. It seemed difficult to believe he would have had the kind of self-esteem that Dean was describing.  
  
“Do you still sleep with him?” asked Sam. It was the question that had been tearing in his gut ever since he’d seen that video of the two of them together, although he had only just realized it now.  
  
“Of course I’ll dom Cas whenever he needs me to,” said Dean, looking hurt at the implication that Sam would think otherwise. “He’s my friend, and he needs to be fucked pretty regularly.”  
  
Sam shook his head, not wanting to hear any more.  
  
“I’m a trainer, Sam,” said Dean. “It’s what I do – for you, for Cas, for anybody who comes to the Facility to learn.”  
  
Sam understood that, he _knew_ that ... but he wanted Dean all to himself. He wanted them to live together, to be everything to each other.  
  
“I’m not going to get to stay with you, am I,” he asked, his voice choked. That was what Adam had said, what he had never wanted to believe.  
  
Dean was quiet, playing with Sam’s fingers. “A Master is different from a trainer, baby,” he said, gently. “They have to demonstrate that they have the resources to support a sub for life, that they can take care of you _forever_. The Facility finds the perfect Master for each of our subs. Why do you think they’re so eager to train here?”  
  
Sam pressed his lips together, refusing to answer. His eyes were blurred with tears.  
  
“Sammy,” said Dean. “It’s not your job to make these decisions. You don’t have to think about anything other than being a good boy, doing what you’re told. Trust me to do the right thing for you.”  
  
Sam nodded. That was all he wanted, after all. A tear rolled down his cheek, and Dean leaned forward to gently wipe it away.  
  
“You’re tired, baby,” he said. “You’re still sore from last night. Lay down on your tummy for me, and let me take care of you.”  
  
Willingly Sam went, burying his face in the pillow. Dean pulled off his white tunic, then lathered up his hands with the scented oil he dug out of a drawer by the bed.  
  
“Let’s help get you relaxed, huh?” Dean set his hand between Sam’s shoulder blades, letting the heat soak in. The air smelled like sandalwood and cedar. Sam moaned, softly.  
  
Dean slid his hand down Sam’s spine, using his strong fingers to chase away the lingering ache in Sam’s lower back, sore from sleeping in an unnatural position. “Does that feel good, baby?” he asked.  
  
Sam nodded into the pillow. Dean made his way smoothly up and down Sam’s back, from his collarbones to the cradle of his hips, moving his hands in slow, steady circles, pushing the knots out from their hiding places. Gently, he took hold of Sam’s hips and rearranged him, tugging him down by his hips until his lower half was settled in front of him, and working hard on the sore muscles right above his ass. It felt _so good._  
  
Dean eased his thighs apart. “Does your hole hurt?”  
  
Sam nodded. The doctors had pulled out his plug when he’d been recovered by the Facility, but he was still dry and sore. And empty.  
  
Dean reached for what must be an intercom in the wall. “Hey Cas, can you come in here a second?”  
  
Sam squawked, not sure about the thought of someone seeing him like this. “Easy,” said Dean, a hand between his shoulder blades.  
  
Someone came through the door, and Sam closed his eyes. “Just lie still and let him make you feel good, baby,” said Dean, pressing his shoulders down. Sam felt his ass cheeks being spread apart by careful, delicate fingers. “Go on, Angel – work your magic.”  
  
It was a tongue, licking into the sweaty crevasse of Sam’s ass. Kittenish licks around his hole. Sam moaned aloud, squirming at the sensation.  
  
“That better?” Dean cooed. “You like this?”  
  
“Mmm,” Sam managed, drowsy again with pleasure. He was drifting off again, the warm pressure at his asshole strangely soothing. He would either come, or fall asleep, and he was leaning towards the latter.  
  
He felt Dean sitting on the bed, then fingers stroking through his hair.  
  
“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Dean whispered. “You’ll see. Everything is going to be just fine.”  
  


  


With Dean assiduously alternating heat and cold packs, as well as salve and liniment and gentle massage, Sam’s bruises faded over time. His feet also healed without a scar, mostly due to Dean endlessly wrapping and unwrapping them every day.  
  
Glad to have stopped limping, Sam nonetheless leaned heavily into Dean’s side as they walked around the various playrooms of the Facility, peering in the windows at men dressed in strange outfits – clowns, which Sam didn’t like, but also canine accessories, or horse tack complete with saddle, stirrups, bridle, and bit. One unwilling sub was being wrestled into a giant baby costume, with a bonnet and a pacifier. His dom was standing nearby, holding a teddy bear. “Why – why is he doing that?” asked Sam, quietly.  
  
Dean looked to where the man and his sub were playing. “Some subs like to be humiliated,” he explained, tugging Sam protectively closer. “So we give that to them. Would you like that, baby?”  
  
Sam thought about it – pictured Dean making him eat out of a dog bowl, or diapering his bottom on a changing table. “I don’t – don’t know,” he whispered, his cheeks flushing red.  
  
“That’s okay baby,” said Dean, “it’s not my job to try to introduce you to every kind of sexual experience, just teach you to embrace your submission.” _Because it’s up to your Master to decide what he wants you to do,_ was left unspoken.  
  
They watched a sub being trained on a fucking machine, tied down bent over a bench while a swinging mechanical arm rammed a thick dildo, over and over, in and out of his well-lubed ass. The sub was sobbing, coming repeatedly on the impersonal machine, and Sam closed his eyes.  
  
“Cas loves this one,” said Dean. “He can go for hours. Would you like to try it sometime?”  
  
Sam shook his head. He was sure it felt good, but not as good as Dean’s dick, which he had still never gotten to see up close. That thought had his hole clenching in anticipation, cock stiffening in his pants.  
  
“To each their own,” said Dean, with a shrug. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go to lunch.”  
  
 **\--**  
  
Sam was lying on Dean’s bed, trying unsuccessfully to nap, sniffing at Dean’s pillow and absentmindedly stroking his own dick. Dean smirked at the sight when he came in from the shower. “Enjoying yourself, baby?”  
  
Sam stopped what he was doing, rolling all the way onto his back and spreading his legs wider in obvious invitation. His own hand was fine, but Dean’s was better.  
  
“Not yet, baby. But keep your legs open for me, I wanna see how your hole is doing.”  
  
Sam was used to this inspection by now, and he willingly lifted his hips in presentation. His dom owned his ass, as well as his mouth and his hands and any other part of him he wanted.  
  
Dean knelt between his thighs, spreading his cheeks apart and Sam closed his eyes, knowing what he was looking at – his tight little anus.  
  
“Nice and clean?” asked Dean, sliding a finger into him.  
  
Sam pressed back against him eagerly. He hoped he was clean. He scrubbed himself out pretty thoroughly every morning, and kept himself free of hair with the lotion Dean provided.  
  
Dean’s knowing fingers slid around the edge of Sam’s stretched ass. “Looking good,” said Dean. “What a pretty little hole you’ve got here for me. It makes me want to be sweet to it, take care of it properly. Would you like that?”  
  
“Yes,” said Sam softly. “Please.”  
  
“You want something up here?”  
  
Sam nodded, whining a little with pleasure.  
  
“You want that, baby? Want something in your bottom?”  
  
“Yes,” Sam whispered.  
  
“I don’t know if you’ve earned that yet. What if I wanted to spank it, instead? Make you cry like a little girl.”  
  
“You could do that,” said Sam shyly.  
  
“That’s right, I could,” said Dean. “I could do anything I wanted, couldn’t I.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Such a lovely bottom,” said Dean, stroking over the rounded flesh. “Is it mine, Sammy?”  
  
“Yes,” said Sam mindlessly. “It’s yours. It belongs to you.”  
  
“And if I wanted to give it to someone else, I could, couldn’t I?”  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
“That’s my good boy,” said Dean, softly. “Today I want to give you something you want, sweetheart. What’s it going to be?”  
  
 _Your dick_ thought Sam at once, but he didn’t say it. Instead he nibbled his lip, hesitating.  
  
“My mouth,” he whispered, shyly. “I want – something in my mouth. I like – I like the way it feels.”  
  
“Such a good boy, telling me what you want,” said Dean. “You want something to suck on? That what you want?”  
  
Sam flushed and nodded, ducking his head.  
  
“Ask me pretty, baby,” said Dean. His voice was warm and affectionate. “Good boys have to ask nicely for what they want.”  
  
“Please,” said Sam. “Please – put something in my mouth.”  
  
“In your pretty mouth,” said Dean.  
  
“In my pretty mouth,” Sam repeated, bright pink now.  
  
“Say, I’m a beautiful boy,” Dean teased. Sam, still blushing, shook his head, looking down at his hands on the bed.  
  
“My beautiful boy,” said Dean, sounding almost sad. It was so strange that Sam looked up into his face, but Dean was looking away. “Bite the pillow, baby.”  
  
Sam flipped himself over at once, aware that he was lying in his own wet spot from earlier. He turned his face and opened his mouth, and was rewarded with two of Dean’s fingers sliding easily back into him.  
  
“Gonna make you feel good, baby” said Dean absently stroking his thigh. “Make you feel real good.”  
  
Sam writhed and twisted on the bed, choking on the pillowcase, as Dean tortured that place inside of him, rubbing it between his fingertips.  
  
“Gonna come for me, sweetheart? Paint your spunk on my sheets? Know you love this, finally got some fingers shoved up inside you, know you’ve been waiting all day.” Finally Dean flicked his fingers against Sam’s walls, and Sam came on a long, muffled groan.  
  
“Okay,” said Dean, wiping his hands on a towel. “Come on then, sweetheart.”  
  
Sam stumbled behind Dean, barely registering that for the first time since he'd arrived, he wasn't restrained in any way – his wrists weren’t cuffed together, his ankles were free, his mouth and his ass were empty. It was almost a strange feeling - it made him feel a little out of control.  
  
"Sammy?" Dean had a hand on his elbow, but upon observing that Sam had spaced out, he slid it up to Sam's neck and squeezed gently. "You alright, sweetheart?" His hand cupped Sam's face, turning it up towards him. “Nervous?”  
  
Actually Sam couldn’t really remember where they were going and had forgotten to care. He always ended up wherever Dean wanted him, anyway.  
  
“Good boy,” said Dean, taking his hand, leading him on. Sam trailed along in Dean’s shadow, staring at their intertwined fingers.  
  
He was led into a large white room, with high ceilings lined with windows. Sam glanced hesitantly around and could see people, sitting inside viewing the room. It reminded him of an operating theatre on that cheesy hospital drama, Dr. Sexy.  
  
“You ready, Sammy?” asked Dean, sliding an arm around his shoulders and tugging him on. Now Sam could see a line of chairs along one wall. He nodded, although he didn’t know what he had to be ready for.  
  
“This is a special day for you,” started Dean. A side door opened, and Bobby came in. Sam looked over to Dean, surprised, but Dean didn’t seem troubled by his presence. “You remember Bobby,” said Dean. “Say hi, baby.”  
  
“Hi,” said Sam shyly.  
  
“What a nice boy you’ve got there, Dean,” said Bobby. Sam flushed with pleasure.  
  
“Thank you,” said Dean, “Sammy’s a real sweetheart. You wanna watch him suck Cas’ dick?”  
  
“Sure,” said Bobby, taking a seat.  
  
For the first time, Sam noticed that Cas was sitting in one of the chairs, his mouth sealed with a strip of silver tape. Dean walked to him, pushing his knees apart. “C’mere baby. Crawl over here.”  
  
Sam dropped to his knees obediently, conscious of all the eyes fixed on him – Bobby’s, Cas’, and the strangers’ in the viewing room upstairs. But Dean was telling him what to do, so Sam did it.  
  
“He’s messy,” said Dean, pressing his finger back behind Cas’ balls, his other hand pressing Cas’s shoulders back against the chair. The blue-eyed man hummed behind the tape, lifting his hips, his eyelashes fluttering. “He’s got my jizz in his ass. Come try some of it.”  
  
Dean scooped up a fingerful of what looked like white, sticky glue and motioned Sam closer. “C’mon, baby,” said Dean. “Ah-ah-ah. On your knees for me, sweetheart. Crawl.”  
  
Sam did, hesitantly aware of Bobby’s eyes on his back.  
  
Dean brought his finger-full up to Sam’s lips. “Swallow it,” said Dean.  
  
Sam debated. On one hand, he wanted to taste Dean’s cum, having never had the opportunity to try it before. But it had been in Cas’ _ass_ –  
  
Shyly, Sam licked the sticky slime off of Dean’s finger, embarrassed at the thought of everybody watching. It didn’t taste like anything much, not in the light of Dean’s approval – just salty and slightly bitter. “That’s my good boy,” said Dean. “You can’t be afraid to eat come, in this business. I should make you clean up his bottom for him, but luckily for you, Cas isn’t into that. Are you, angel?”  
  
Cas managed to shake his head ‘no’ with a soft grunt, but really he looked too fucked-out to care one way or another what Sam did.  
  
“But you’d have to do it, if I told you to, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Spread these pretty cheeks wide apart and dive right in. You’d bury your face in his ass, put your mouth on his hole, slide your tongue up there as deep as you could, if I told you to. Wouldn’t you, baby? Eat him out nice and clean?”  
  
Helplessly, Sam nodded. Of course he would, if Dean told him to.  
  
“Good. Now, c’mere. Come crawl between his legs and take him in your mouth.”  
  
Sam inched forward, hesitant. He parted his lips as Dean’s hand came to rest on the back of his neck, guiding his head down. Cas was only half hard, and Sam was surprised when his face was pressed, not against his dick, but to one of his smooth, hairless balls.  
  
Sam opened his mouth and sucked on one, listening to Cas puffing sharp breaths through his nose. It felt good in his mouth, warm and salty. He was pulled back by the hair, letting the round ball roll off his tongue, then held with his lips barely a centimeter from the other testicle. Taking the hint, he stuck out his tongue and began to lick, long lathing strokes like he would use on an ice cream cone.  
  
“That’s nice, baby,” rumbled Dean. “Now you can swallow his nice hard dick.”  
  
Sam lifted his head and caught a glimpse of Cas’ face before he was firmly pressed back down. The dark-haired man’s head was dropped back, eyes on the ceiling, expression serene. Then Sam’s mouth was steered over the head of Cas’ erection and he sucked willingly, as the warm hand on the back of his neck bobbed him gently back and forth like a puppet.  
  
“Such a good boy,” said Dean, forcing him further down.  
  
Sam had never sucked dick before, but he had gotten used to the shape of the cock gag filling his throat during his rest hours. He remembered how he’d even found comfort in the suckling, that first time. He hadn’t realized it then, but those days in the beginning – when all his choices were made for him – were the safest he’d ever felt in his whole life.  
  
“Fuck, you look so beautiful like this, your lips stretched around a cock. You want something in your ass, too, baby?”  
  
Sam had a brief second in which he thought Dean was actually going to fuck him, and a hot rush of relief and desire raced through him. Unable to lift his head, he nodded as well as he could, grunting.  
  
“Reach back and spread yourself, then. Show everyone how much you want it.”  
  
Awkwardly Sam reached behind himself, keeping Cas’ dick in his mouth. He took a cheek in each hand and pulled them apart, exposing his anus to the room.  
  
“Good boy.” But instead of Dean’s cock, it was just a finger that slid into his hole, brushing against his prostate.  
  
“Push up against him, Angel. Fuck his mouth.”  
  
Sam relaxed his throat and jaw and let it happen, sucking lightly as Cas flexed his hips to pump in and out. Dean began prodding that place inside of him and Sam moaned happily. He just wished it was Dean’s cock he was swallowing, the one he’d never even seen.  
  
He knew people were watching, watching him take it from both ends, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have to do anything now other than let his mouth be used, and he felt powerful, fulfilled.  
  
He remembered he way Dean had said submission wasn’t a weakness. He thought he was beginning to understand.  
  
He was distracted by these thoughts when Cas came violently down his throat, a hand on his neck pushing his face down and almost choking him on the cum. Cas was very quiet as he bucked up, but he spurted for a long time. Sam was held down or all of it.  
  
The finger in his ass hooked up against Sam’s prostate, and he came from the lack of oxygen, or maybe it was the second he was pulled back so he could breathe. He couldn’t help himself, spattering his stomach in front of everyone. He didn’t care if the whole world witnessed it, as long as he was pleasing Dean.  
  
“You seen enough, Bobby?” asked Dean, handing Sam another plain white tunic to cover up.  
  
“Yeah, I seen enough. He’s ready.”  
  
Dean was squinting up at the viewing window, seemingly waiting for some kind of sign from the watchers upstairs. Whatever he received, it was apparently enough.  
  
“My beautiful boy,” said Dean, pulling Sam up off of his knees and into a hug. “You did it, baby. Did so great. You passed, baby.”  
  
For some reason, it sounded like goodbye.  
  
Sam felt his heart rate pick up. “What’s happening?”  
  
Dean kissed Sam’s temple, stroking his hair. When he spoke, his voice was strangely – sad. “So proud of you, sweetheart. Bobby –“ Dean’s voice cracked, and Sam heard Cas’ quiet sound of dismay. The other man peeled the tape off his mouth and came to stand next to Dean, pressed against his side. “Bobby’s gonna take care of you now, okay?”  
  
Sam watched, wide-eyed, as the orange-haired man came to stand at Dean’s side, resting a firm hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing, kid,” he rumbled, voice deep with sympathy.  
  
Dean swallowed and nodded, eyes grim with determination.  
  
“I want you to go with Bobby, okay? Be good for Bobby.”  
  
Sam didn’t understand anything. Dean was sending him away? Now?  
  
“I’ll take care of him,” said Bobby, patting Dean’s shoulder. “Come on, kid.” He put a firm hand on the back of Sam’s neck, urging him forward. “Let’s go.”  
  
Obediently Sam started forward, keeping pace with Bobby.  
  
But he turned his head to look back at Dean as he was led away, and Dean’s eyes never left his face until finally they passed through a doorway and turned left into the hall.  
  
The last thing Sam saw was Cas, huddled in against Dean’s side, trying to comfort him, and Dean, dropping his face into the shorter man’s shoulder.

  


“Come on, kid, keep up,” said Bobby, guiding Sam along. Sam forced himself not to protest, not to insist on heading back to Dean as soon as possible.  
  
He felt like all of his actions reflected on Dean’s training, and he didn’t want to discredit his master.  
  
Bobby led them to a beat- up looking truck, unlocking both doors. “You getting in?” he asked, gruffly, but his face was kind. Sam climbed obediently into the passenger side and waited while Bobby got in the other side and started the truck.  
  
“You’re a good boy, no fuss,” said Bobby, patting Sam’s shoulder. “Any dom would be proud to have you.”  
  
Sam told himself that this should be enough for him to be happy. “Thank you,” he whispered.  
  
They passed through the scrub lands and a variety of gates and checkpoints, finally coming onto a bigger road and then through a small town. As they headed North the desert cleared into small farms and fields.  
  
Bobby was playing seventies rock, very low, but Sam tuned it out. He passed the time staring out the window as they drove. He was dreaming of Dean, but he reminded himself that Dean had Cas and was happy. Everything was happening the way it should. It was all good.  
  
A few hours in, he fell asleep.  
  
When he woke up they were pulling into the parking lot of a ramshackle hotel. It was very late, although he had no idea of the exact time – the dashboard clock had been blinking 12:00 since they set off.  
  
“Welcome back, sleeping beauty,” said Bobby brusquely. “You ready for this?”  
  
Sam blinked back at him. No, he wasn’t ready. He missed Dean. He wanted _Dean_.  
  
His only job was to be obedient.  
  
“Okay,” he whispered.  
  
“This might be a little scary, son,” Bobby continued, “but you get through the next couple hours, you end up with a good Master who can take care of you properly, okay? All you gotta do is listen to me, and do as you’re told.”  
  
“I understand,” said Sam. His heart was pounding.  
  
“Okay then. C’mon, out of the truck.”  
  
Sam followed Bobby through the parking lot and up the stairs to a long hallway that smelled of molding carpet.  
  
They stopped in front one of the hotel rooms. They didn’t have a key, but Bobby knocked on the door and someone opened it from inside, letting them in.  
  
Sam followed Bobby.  
  
The room was small and redolent with stale cigarette smoke. Sam glanced quickly at the drab interior and the occupants of the room, then fixed his gaze on the floor.  
  
“Home sweet home,” said Bobby dryly. “Howdy boys.”  
  
There was a cluster of men standing around one of the beds, studying them critically. Sam peeped up through his eyelashes, trying not to stare.  
  
“Is this the sub?” asked one of the strangers. He had a British accent and short, thinning hair. He was looking at Sam in an appraising manner that made Sam’s hair stand up, but Sam kept resolutely quiet. “The virgin taken straight from his home?”  
  
“This is Sam,” said Bobby gruffly. “Sam, go in the bathroom, take a shower and change your clothes. New ones’ll be waiting for you on the sink.”  
  
Sam nodded, keeping his head down. He side-stepped around the group of men, making for the bathroom door.  
  
“He’s got a beautiful little ass. Has Nick seen him yet?” drawled the British man.  
  
Sam flushed wildly.  
  
“It’s a silent auction, Crowley. Nick’ll have to bid just like everyone else,” said Bobby. “Sam, I told you to go.”  
  
Sam bobbed his head and shut the door behind him, locking it for good measure. Hurriedly he stepped into the shower and cleaned himself thoroughly, remembering the feeling of Dean’s hands moving over him, and inside him, last time they were together. He forced himself to stop thinking about it – he didn’t need an erection around sharks like these. And those days were over now.  
  
He finished quickly, stepping out of the tub.  
  
The outfit waiting for him on the chipped, stained sink was less “clothing,” and more a collection of leather straps all buckled together. Sam wasn’t sure he even understood how to wear it – there certainly wasn’t enough material to cover anything. Finally he settled for centering the silver ring over his breastbone, with the leather pieces arranged outward from the center, over his shoulders and ribs. His backside was bare. He felt – exposed.  
  
Shyly, he opened the bathroom door and stepped out. “Looks real pretty, boy,” said Bobby flatly, not looking up. Luckily the other men had apparently left. “Now c’mon, get something to eat before we leave.”  
  
Sam moved stiffly to the table and helped himself to one of the burgers in the center. It wasn’t his favorite food, but he forced himself to eat. He didn’t know when he’d get another chance.  
  
“Just a few more hours, son,” Bobby reassured him. “Then it’ll all be over.”  
  
Sam had already figured out that he was being sold to his new Master, but he still had a lot of questions. He was terrified. But he knew his only option was to do what he had been taught to do: _trust Dean_. This was what Dean wanted for him, had sent him here for, and Sam was going to obey him if it was the last thing he did.  
  
So instead of saying anything, he nodded and swallowed another bite of overcooked meat.  
  
After dinner, Bobby cleared the table and let Sam watch the crackling TV. He stared blankly at the screen, mind entirely empty.  
  
“You ready?” asked Bobby, wiping his hands on his pants. “Might as well get this show on the road.”  
  
Sam followed him back down the corridor and through a doorway into a large, beautifully decorated room. It looked like a ballroom, with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, luxurious carpet on the floor, and beautiful, dark wood paneled walls.  
  
The elegance of this one space made no sense against the backdrop of the crappy hotel and the dirty, low-budget room he had just left.  
  
“C’mon,” said Bobby, tugging Sam forward. In the center of the room there was a variety of men kneeling on the floor, dressed similarly to Sam, being watched over by their sharp-eyed trainers. Nobody made any eye contact with Sam as he passed.  
  
“This way,” said Bobby, leading Sam towards a low, padded bench on the floor. Standing nearby Sam saw the same group of men from before, watching him as he was led across the floor.  
  
Sam swallowed.  
  
“Kneel here,” Bobby directed, indicating the carpet. Sam knelt where instructed to, in front of the bench, next to a set of heavy metal rings that protruded from the carpet and a zipped duffel bag.  
  
First Bobby tied a blindfold over his eyes, and then there were hands, more than two of them, tugging on Sam’s limbs. For a second Sam instictively tensed , then capitulated entirely. He let himself be arranged, back end held up by the bench, wrists strapped down to the block. Tied down on all fours, legs spread wide, ankles lashed far apart, his ass was presented, shiny-slick asshole on display.  
  
"Open." Someone tucked a ball gag into his mouth to keep him quiet. Sam opened his mouth for it thankfully. Bobby's hand - Sam could smell the motor oil, so he knew who's it was - held the ball in place with one hand while he got everything buckled, as if Sam was fighting it. Dean used to do that too.   
  
It wasn’t because he didn’t trust Sam, he realized now – it was because Sam liked to be reminded of his own helplessness.  
  
“He’s beautiful,” said someone, a voice Sam didn’t recognize. It was a lazy drawl, American, that made Sam’s spine tingle – not in the good way. He whimpered softly against the ball in his mouth, but no sound escaped.  
  
“Now now, Nick,” said the voice of the British man, Crowley. “Easy on the pet. You don’t own him yet.”  
  
Strong fingers spread his ass apart and then spit-wet fingers rubbed over his hole. “Nice,” said the strange dom, Nick. Sam moaned as someone, without warning, worked what felt like a monster plug into his ass. It was too dry and didn’t go easily. When it finally sank in Sam panted in relief around his gag.  
  
“Gonna come up this sweet ass and plug it up there,” said Nick, close to Sam’s ear. “So you can wear me around inside you, all day long.”  
  
Crowley’s distinctive voice interrupted. “Sorry, luv, but the pet needs to get ready now. You’ll have to put in your bid like everyone else.”  
  
Whoever the strange dom was, he didn’t seem concerned. “Will do,” he said lightly, patting Sam’s backside.  
  
Then he moved away.  
  
“Thanks for getting rid of him,” said Bobby, sounding reluctant, presumably talking to the Brit.  
  
“Not at all, luv,” said the British man cheerfully. “May the best man win, eh?”  
  
With a last, affectionate pat to the shoulder and a whisper of, ‘good luck,’ Bobby left Sam to his fate.  
  
 **\--**  
  
Blindfolded and completely restrained, Sam was inspected by what he could only assume were the buyers. He couldn’t track the number of people in the room who were moving around the subs on display.  
  
A few people touched him, feeling his hair, and one checked his teeth, pulling up his lip as Sam softly whined. Then there were hands between his legs, spreading his cheeks to look at his stuffed hole.  
  
“Wild-caught,” he heard a woman’s voice saying nearby, “so lovely.” Fingers twisted the plug in his ass, making him jolt.  
  
He wanted to be a good sub. He hoped his new master would be pleased with him. He didn’t really care any more who it was, if it couldn’t be Dean.  
  
“He’s very beautiful,” someone said, “too bad he’ll be far too rich for my blood.”  
  
“A very handsome brute,” agreed someone else. “But Zachariah said he has a buyer in mind.”  
  
Sam blinked. Were they talking about _him_? Maybe they meant another sub.  
  
After what felt like hours, but might only be as little as twenty minutes, a polite, cultured voice rang out over what sounded like an intercom. “Ladies and Gentlemen, if you’ll please be so kind as to come into the bidding room, we’ll announce the top bids of the evening.”  
  
Slowly the chattering voices receded; the room fell silent. Sam had to assume everyone had left. He waited, trembling in his restraints. All he could hear was the faint moans and whimpers of the other subs, presumably in straits similar to his own.  
  
He tried to hold his breath, tried to listen, tried to breathe. He didn’t know what was going to happen, and he was terrified.  
  
All of a sudden he heard the sound of doors being thrown open. “I never heard of such a thing!” said a woman’s voice, high-pitched and scandalized.  
  
“One for the record books,” someone else muttered. “I don’t think Zachariah’s going to be very pleased.”  
  
“If everyone will please quiet down for the claiming,” came a patient sounding voice through the intercom.  
  
Someone came up behind Sam, laying a hand on his naked ass. Polite applause scattered through the room. The plug was removed without ceremony, leaving Sam stretched and open. Sam moaned in his restraints, squirming as something wet and rubbery nosed between the cheeks of his ass. No condom, he noticed. At least there was plenty of lube.  
  
The hand settled in the divot above his backside, rubbing circles, distracting him from the pressure in his asshole. This was it, thought Sam. He was losing his virginity, to a stranger, right in front of everyone. _Obedience_ , he reminded himself, as the slippery cock eased into him, forcing him open around it.  
  
Being fucked with a cock, it turned out, felt a lot different than a toy or finger. It was burning hot, for one thing, like it was scorching his guts. It was flexible in a way that rubber wasn’t, like it was bending with him to fill him entirely, expanding inside of him. Whoever was fucking him, their dick felt _huge_ , like Sam would tear apart. But the stretch of it never quite crossed the line into true pain. Just incredibly close.  
  
When the dick was as far inside of him as it would go, a cheer rose up from the crowd. Abruptly, Sam’s new Master pulled out. Sam hissed at the sensation, squirming at the discomfort. There were noises, the distinctive sound of a hand moving over wet skin, and soft, almost silent grunts. The sound of someone jerking themselves off, Sam realized, familiar with the noises from the many long, frustrated nights he had spent under his own sheets.  
  
Then the stranger spattered hot come all over Sam’s ass and his lower back, like a brand. More applause.  
  
Before Sam even had time to put the pieces together – the rushed, perfunctory sex leaving him stunned and confused – he felt strong hands, working at the buckles which held him down to the platform. “C’mon, sweetheart, gonna get you out of here, away from all these eyes,” said a rough voice close to his ear.  
  
 _Dean_.  
  
It was Dean who had fucked him, Dean who had claimed him, Dean who had bought him. Dean who was untying his hands, working the gag out of his mouth, the blindfold away from his eyes. “Just a little more, here we go, Sammy, c’mon, come with me now,” he said, muttering under his breath as though afraid of being overheard. He unbuckled the straps of Sam’s leather costume, stripping it off of him, leaving Sam innocently naked in front of everyone. Sam didn’t mind, didn’t care.  
  
Dean raised him to standing, wrapped an arm around his waist, and hauled him bodily off the floor of the ballroom, out through a side door before Sam could focus on the people standing around the room.  
  
“This way, c’mon, this way Sammy,” said Dean, pulling him across the dirty hallway and into one of the hotel rooms. It was in slightly better shape than the one he had eaten in before, the sheets on the bed clean, the walls spotless.  
  
Dean led him to sit on the bed, then knelt in front of him, holding his hands. “You okay, baby?”  
  
“ _Dean_ ,” breathed Sam. “But – but how did you – “  
  
Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I sold all my shares in the Facility to Cas,” he said, sheepishly. “Boy are they going to be surprised when they realize a sub is the majority owner. And I borrowed another hundred grand from Bobby. It was the only way I could get enough money – I had to make sure I put in the highest bid, had to make sure I won.”  
  
“Are you my Master now?” asked Sam. It was the only thing he could think to ask.  
  
Dean kissed his hair. “We don’t have to do it that way, if you don’t want,” he said softly. “I just want you in my life, baby. We don’t ever have to have sex again, now that it’s official - I’ll adopt you as a brother, if you want, and I’ll always take care of you. ”  
  
“Don’t you want to fuck me?” Sam whispered.  
  
Dean sat back on his heels. “Do you want me to?” he asked.  
  
Sam nodded slowly.  
  
“You can fuck me instead, if you want,” Dean said, stroking Sam’s naked shoulder. "Anything you want."  
  
Sam shook his head no. “Want you to,” he said. He wanted to suck Dean, wanted to lick his ass, but most of all he wanted Dean to finally fuck him, properly, finally show him who he belonged to.  
  
“Okay, sweetheart,” said Dean. He kissed Sam's shoulder. “Lie back for me. Not gonna tie you, want you to put your hands above your head, keep them up there for me, okay?”  
  
Dean crawled between Sam’s thighs on the bed. “Want you just like this,” he said, “on your back.” He hoisted Sam’s legs over his shoulders and folded him easily in half. Sam relaxed, letting himself be positioned however Dean wanted him.  
  
“Oh, sweetheart,” said Dean, his fingers exploring around. “You’re so wet down here, wet and open for me, like a girl.”  
  
Sam flushed in pleasure with the humiliation. “You want it?” asked Dean, shoving his pants down out of the way. Sam finally caught sight of his dick, angry red and straining towards him.  
  
“I want it,” he said, certainly.  
  
“Relax for me,” said Dean, lining them up. Sam’s asshole stung as it was stretched around Dean’s slippery head. It didn’t fade; Dean wasn’t pushing any further in.  
  
“Please,” Sam begged, dropping his head back, arching his chest. Dean apparently took it as an invitation – he leaned forward, sinking in a little further, and latched onto one of the offered nipples. Sam moaned, the irritation of his stuffed ass contrasting with smooth slide of Dean’s lips and tongue. When Dean drew off, leaving the stiff little peak flush and wet with the attention, Sam twisted eagerly to present the other one to his mouth.  
  
“You like this?” Dean gave the other nipple a smacking kiss. “You want my mouth here? No, keep your hands where they are, sweetheart. That’s right, above your head just like that.” He licked around the bud as Sam moaned and writhed and tried to get better contact with that invading dick. “Now, please what?”  
  
“Please move. Fuck me. My ass, please fuck my ass. Oh god, _please_.”  
  
Dean planted his arms on both sides of Sam’s shoulders. “You gonna open up for me, sweetheart?” he asked, leaning forward and working himself slowly into Sam. Sam had no leverage to thrust back – he was held down by the angle of his own legs over Dean’s shoulders.  
  
Dean kissed at Sam’s chest, moving up as he pushed in further, planting slow, reverent kisses all over Sam’s neck, his jaw, his chin. Then finally he stretched up to bring their mouths together, swallowing Sam’s gasp as he pushed that last inch in, seating himself fully. “How’s this,” he murmured, against Sam’s lips. “Is this what you needed?”  
  
It still felt strange, to be stretched so wide, to feel that there was a space inside of him big enough to swallow down all of Dean’s dick. Sam wiggled, impaled on the solid mass of it, feeling his body mould around the shape.  
  
“S’good,” he muttered. “More.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean licked into Sam’s mouth, tongue sliding over his teeth, rotating his hips so Sam could feel every inch of him. “Want more of this?”  
  
Sam closed his eyes, nodding.  
  
“So beautiful.” Dean kept his lips in a gentle pucker over Sam’s. “Love you, baby.”  
  
Sam’s eyes watered as Dean began to move, slow, deep thrusts, “Love you too,” he promised, lifting his arms from the bed and wrapping them around Dean’s neck. Apparently Dean didn’t object. He helped Sam slide his legs down from his shoulders to his waist, where they instinctively tightened, Sam’s ankles locked behind Dean’s back, and they moved, tangled together that way.  
  
Dean reached down to take hold of Sam’s cock, but Sam shook his head, pushing him off. “Like this,” he said, pushing back hungrily against Dean’s thrusts.  
  
Dean just smiled, and kissed him again, and Sam lost himself in the movement of their lips working together, the pressure of Dean’s dick inside of him, sliding slowly in and out.  
  
He came all at once, like drawing a breath after having been underwater, spurting all over Dean’s stomach and his own, where they slid messily together. Then he laid back as Dean kept moving, not resisting at all, his body jolting helplessly with each thrust.  
  
For a long time they kissed, slowly, and Sam opened his mouth and let Dean take what he wanted, sucking gently on the tongue that slid between his lips, as Dean kept moving in the same steady rhythm, like a metronome, not speeding up at all until the last two or three strokes, which got jumbled together. He tensed suddenly, and then Sam felt him coming, a sudden spurt of warmth deep inside him.  
  
Dean collapsed on top of him, nuzzling into Sam’s neck.  
  
They ended up curled together, sharing the same pillow, and slowly recovered their breath.  
  
“What are we going to do now?” asked Sam. His ass ached pleasurably from being fucked, and he could feel his master’s seed sliding out of him.  
  
“Don’t you know, baby?” Dean slid his arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “We’re going to do whatever the hell we want,” he said.

__  
_ _


	4. Timestamp: Shifting Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after their escape from the Facility, Sam is living as Dean’s full-time sub and he's happy with their life the way it is. 
> 
> But then Dean’s old flame shows up out of the blue, looking for a place to heal … and it seems like maybe he’s thinking of sticking around.
> 
> With fabulous art by [Paxdracona.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Paxdracona/pseuds/Paxdracona)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This is an optional, director's-cut timestamp written for[ Dean/Cas Big Bang.](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com) If you liked the fic without Cas, feel free to disregard this chapter._

   
  **_A big thank you to wildirerose, Paxdracona, Princess_aleera, and the mods at DeanCasBigBang!_ **

 

 

 

 

[ ](http://paxdracona.livejournal.com/10076.html)

 

 [  __**_ _ ](http://paxdracona.livejournal.com/10076.html) __[Don't forget to check out all the incredible art by](http://paxdracona.livejournal.com/10076.html) [Paxdracona](../../../../users/Paxdracona/pseuds/Paxdracona)!!**__

 

“Dean, _harder!_ ”

Sam was on his hands and knees on the bed, with Dean behind him.   
   
“Hey, who’s running this show, huh?” Dean teased. “Who wears the panties in this relationship?”  
  
Today that would be Sam, but only because Dean had put him up to it. _You’ll love it_ , he’d said, with suspicious certainly.  
  
All day Sam had been tortured by the pink fabric, tight and silky around his dick and his balls. He’d practically leaked all the way through them. By the time he had finally come home, he’d barely had the presence of mind to drop his trousers and beg his Dom to fuck him.  
  
Now here he was, moaning, thighs bound with stretched panty, and Dean was _taking his time?!_  
  
“So beautiful, sweetheart,” Dean said, stroking the knobs of his spine. “So perfect for me just like this, in your pretty panties. Asking me to please, please fuck your sweet little hole.”  
  
“I’m asking you to please, please fuck it _harder_ ,” said Sam.  
  
Dean tapped his side. “Be a good boy for me,” he said. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day. We never get enough time together, I just wanna go slow and be sweet to you.”  
  
Which was nice and all, but since they never had enough time together, Sam just needed to get _fucked_.  
  
“Please, Dean,” he begged shamelessly. “Please do it hard. Make me feel it.”  
  
But instead Dean pulled out entirely and stepped back, ignoring Sam’s moan of despair. Strong, callused hands gently pulled the panties down Sam’s legs, guiding him to kick them off.  
  
“Here.” Dean handed the panties to Sam, who took them in confusion.  
  
“Uh, what … ?”  
  
“Gotta remind you that I’m in charge, Sammy. If I want to fuck you slow then that’s what I’m going to do, and I don’t need your input. I think you know what to do with those, hmm?”  
  
Moaning, Sam hesitated, playing for time. But Dean was his Dom, and that meant he was in charge in the bedroom. Reluctantly, he opened his mouth and put the damp fabric gingerly on his tongue.  
  
He could taste himself, sharp and bitter.  
  
“That’s right. That’s my good boy. You suck on your panties while you get fucked nice and slow, and remember who you belong to. Who do you belong to, baby?”  
  
“‘ou,” mumbled Sam through a muffling wad of silk.  
  
Dean lifted his hips up, pushing Sam back down on his elbows again. Despite Sam’s larger size, he was easily manhandled into the position Dean wanted; ass in the air, head lowered, trying not to drool on the pillows.  
  
Dean checked his readiness with two fingers (always so careful, thought Sam irritably, even though he’d been balls deep inside him just a few minutes ago) and lined himself up.  
  
The doorbell interrupted them.  
  
Sam groaned, collapsing into the pillowcase.  
  
“Maybe they’ll go away,” said Dean, holding still with the wet head of his cock kissing Sam’s stretched hole. Sam rubbed back against it desperately but Dean just moved away.  
  
The doorbell rang again, twice, sounding urgent.  
  
Dean groaned. “Just a second!” He hollered. “Coming!”  
  
No, thought Sam mournfully, they weren’t.  
  
“Go on, Sammy,” said Dean, cracking Sam playfully across the backside. “You get it.”  
  
Grumbling through his mouthful, Sam clambered awkwardly across the bed and stood, letting Dean help him into a pair of sweatpants that had been left on the bedroom floor. They were Dean’s, of course, and way too short in the calf.  
  
“This is a good look on you, Sammy,” said Dean, lovingly tucking Sam's dick under the waistband. The front of the pants was obviously tented.  
  
Sam gurgled.  
  
“Front door’s thataway, kiddo.” Dean pushed him towards the hallway, hurriedly stepping into some clothes himself.  
  
But when Sam reached to pull out the sodden wad of underwear in his mouth, Dean caught up with him and grabbed his wrist. “No no, sweetheart. You’re going to answer the door just like that.”  
  
Sam shuddered with delighted humiliation.  
  
Obediently, he crossed the living room, padding in bare feet across the restored hardwood floor. The room was dark, curtains all pulled shut the way Dean liked it when they were playing. It was necessary; the house Dean had purchased for them was tucked into a quiet street in a quiet neighborhood in the small college town where Sam taught part time.  
  
Their neighbors thought they were an ordinary gay couple, but the reality was that Sam considered himself to be Dean’s sub, permanently and full-time. Had been every minute for the last five years, since they'd escaped the Facility and started their own life together.   
  
It didn’t mean every minute of their relationship was kinky sex toys and bondage. They had developed their own relationship over time, and Sam was now a happy, confident submissive who wasn't afraid to ask for what he wanted.  Sometimes it just meant that Dean walked Sam home after work, holding his hand. Sometimes it meant that he cooked dinner and fed Sam every bite. Sometimes, like today, it meant that he made Sam suck on his own panties while he fucked him up the ass.  
  
It worked for them.  
  
Dean let Sam get as far as reaching for the doorknob, but at the last second he nudged him behind the door so that he wouldn’t be visible to whoever was collecting subscriptions or delivering a package on the other side.  
  
Sam breathed wetly through his underwear as he waited for the inevitable exchange ( _good morning Sir, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?_ Or, _would you like to buy some girl scout cookies?_ ).  
  
Except, Dean wasn’t saying anything. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough and full of wonder: “Cas?”  
  
Discretely, Sam spat out the panties and dropped them behind the door. He stepped into the doorway to look for himself.  
  
It _was_ Cas – and wow, was that ever a blast from the past – but he looked nothing like instead of the serene, gentle-hearted man Sam remembered from the Facility.  He was thin, his face gaunt and dirty, with the better part of a beard covering his chin and cheeks. Under the familiar tan trench coat he was dressed in dirty hospital scrubs. Worst of all, his expression was vague and absent.  
  
“Angel?” Dean was all up in his personal space at once, cupping his cheek, lifting his head up to meet his gaze. His fingers skated over the new peachfuzz on his cheeks. “Hey, you hearin’ me?”  
  
Cas’ eyes slid away, unseeing.  
  
“Dean … what’s wrong with him?” asked Sam.  
  
Dean looked grim. “I dunno. C’mon, Sammy, help me get him inside.”  
  
Obediently, Sam came forward to offer a hand as Dean coaxed Cas over the doorframe. “Should we call an ambulance? Or maybe the police?”  
  
“I don't think so,” said Dean, shaking his head. “He always tried to stay under the radar before. I got the feeling he might be an illegal alien, or something. His full name sounds foreign … Russian, maybe.”  
  
Sam realized he had never wondered about Cas’ full name. He was just - Cas, that's all.  
  
Dean had finally gotten Cas all the way inside with a firm hand on his elbow, tugging him in and then bumping the door closed behind him. Together, they muscled him over to the couch.  
  
“Here, angel, sit.”  
  
Dean snagged the afghan off the back of the cushions and wrapped it around him. Sam realized a beat later that Cas was trembling, faintly. “It’s okay,” Dean soothed, tucking the edges of the blanket more snugly around Cas’ shoulders. “It’s okay, buddy, we’ve got you now.”  
  
“God, he _stinks_ ,” said Sam, his voice low.  
  
“You do stink,” Dean told Cas tenderly. “What have you been doing to yourself?” Not seeming particularly repulsed, he hooked an arm around Cas’ neck and pulled him in to his chest. Cas went without protest, but he didn’t lift his arms to hug Dean back. He just let himself be held, resting on Dean’s shoulder when Dean palmed the back of his head. “What the hell happened to you, huh?”  
  
“Maybe he was drugged?”  
  
Dean lifted Cas’ chin again, examining him. Cas’ eyes were huge, the bluest blue that Sam had ever seen, but they drifted listlessly away from Dean’s, back to the floor. “Hey, up here.” Dean snapped his fingers. Cas’ eyes darted back up. “That’s right, look at me, that’s good. Well, your pupils are normal, anyway. Are you hurt anywhere? Sammy, help me. I can’t see if he’s hurt.”  
  
Untucking the blankets, Dean wrestled off the large, ugly overcoat and stripped it away from Cas’ arms. Cas let it happen, watching the coat slide off of him. “Phew.” Dean rolled it up and put it by the end table, presumably to be washed.  
  
Sam wrinkled his nose. It was like sitting next to a homeless person on the bus, the scent of sweat and dirt.  
  
“Okay, let’s get a good look at you,” said Dean, gently guiding him forward so he could run his hands over his neck, his head, his arms. “Is this hurting?” He pulled Cas’ head up to check. “You got a fever?” Dean’s hand molded to Cas’ forehead.  
  
Cas blinked slowly, allowing it.  
  
“You don’t feel hot.”  
  
“What are we going to do?” asked Sam.  
  
“Well, first things first, he needs a shower. Or maybe a long soak in a tub of bleach. You’re going to be a whole lot happier once you’re clean, aren’t you angel?” Dean’s voice was softer when directed at the shorter man.  
  
Sam recalled that Cas had always been fastidious, his clothes immaculate and miraculously spotless, even though his hair was usually rumpled.  
  
“C’mon, stinky, bathroom is this way.” Dean wrapped one arm tight around Cas’ skinny waist, levering him up, as Sam hurried to help. “Good thing we got the big shower, huh?”

“Good thing,” said Sam. Dean had made extensive, mostly sex-related renovations to the little house, including the addition of an extra-large bathroom. He loved to see Sam dripping wet.  
   
Together, they got down the hall, Dean talking quietly to Cas the whole time. It reminded Sam of his early days of training, how Dean had coaxed and coddled him through it. But that was five years ago, and Sam had his feet under him now. Sure, in the bedroom Dean still called him _baby_ or _sweetheart_ , but it wasn’t like he needed it so much anymore.  
  
“Okay, stay with Sammy while I go get the water warmed up,” said Dean, letting Sam take more of Cas’ weight. Cas leaned willing into the new source of support, seemingly indifferent.  
  
Dean started the shower and stood with his hand under the spray. “Alright, it’s ready for you,” he said finally. “Looks good, doesn’t it? You wanna get in?”  
  
Cas didn’t answer, obviously. He was staring at the tile floor, which Dean had laid by hand.  
  
“Hoo-kay. Maybe we need a little help, huh, that’s okay, Sammy and I will help you. Won’t we Sammy.”  
  
Sammy nodded obediently.  
  
Dean soaked a washcloth in the sink and came forward.  
  
“There’s my good boy,” he soothed, carefully wiping Cas’ dirty face. “Does that feel good, angel? Yeah? Sam, help me get his pants off.”  
  
“Dean, I’m not sure …”  
  
“Well I don’t think he’s going to take care of it himself,” said Dean. “We’ll just get him started and see if he picks it up, huh?”  
  
Sam looked at Cas, who didn’t seem to be making any effort to undress himself. He was wearing what seemed to have been scrub pants, but they were faded and grey now with age and grime. Sam made a face as he untied the string and awkwardly tugged them down Cas’ skinny waist.  
  
No underwear, he noted.  
  
Dean pulled the shirt off over his own head, then Sam helped him do the same for Cas. Sam was only wearing sweatpants, so apparently those were just going to get wet. He watched as Dean stepped out of his own cargos, down to a black pair of boxers, and involuntarily licked his lips at the sight.  
  
“Save it for later, Sammy,” said Dean, winking.  
  
Together they guided Cas, now naked and pale, over the lip of the tub. To hold him up – he was wavering on his feet – Sam ended up getting in with him, while Dean stood on the tile floor getting hit with residual spray.  
  
“Whattaya think, angel?” asked Dean, trying to press the washcloth into Cas’ hands. “Gonna clean yourself up?” But as soon as Dean let go, the washcloth dropped from Cas’ lax fingertips, landing with a splat on the floor of the tub.  
  
“I guess that’s a no,” said Sam.  
  
Dean ended up stepping in too, crowding Sam under the showerhead. The warm stream of water was relaxing, even to Sam, although Cas had no visible reaction. Picking up Sam’s bottle of shampoo, Dean washed Cas’ hair while Sam held the shorter man up. He watched Dean’s strong hands, gently scrubbing Cas’ scalp, careful to keep the bubbles from running into his eyes. When Dean guided his chin up to rinse, the water ran grey.

[ ](http://paxdracona.livejournal.com/10076.html)

Then Dean reached for the hand-sprayer and turned it on, diverting water from the shower. With brisk efficiency he rubbed the soapy washcloth over Cas’ sallow chest, under his arms, over his back. Cas allowed all of it indifferently, even when Dean’s hands moved lower.  
  
“Just getting you nice and clean,” Dean coaxed, sliding one of his hands between Cas’ thighs and spreading them apart.  
  
Cas didn’t struggle. He turned his face into Dean’s shoulder and kept quiet as Dean hosed him off in front, then moved down to soap his knobby knees and calves. Sam knew Cas must have been out of it, to stay completely soft even when Dean knelt down, his face only inches from Cas’ pale dick.  
  
“Here,” said Dean, handing the hand-sprayer around to Sam, who was standing behind Cas.  
  
“What do you want me to do with this?”  
  
“Clean him up, and take a good look at his butt for me.” Dean gave his orders calmly, with the full expectation of being obeyed.  
  
“Uh … what?”  
  
“Well, obviously something happened to him. I want you to check that he’s not hurt.” Dean stood up and gathered Cas into his arms, sliding his fingers through the dark hair. “Angel, be good and let Sammy get a look at you, okay? He’s not gonna hurt you. He just wants to make sure you’re okay.”  
  
Oh, hurt like … _hurt_.  “I don’t know, Dean,” said Sam dubiously.  Just because he had once sucked the guy off in public, it didn't mean he felt comfortable touching his asshole.  
  
“Well, either you do it or I do, which do you prefer?”  
  
Huh. Sam realized suddenly that Dean was trying, in his own weird way, to be sensitive to the situation; he didn’t want Sam to watch him getting up close and personal with a former lover.  
  
“Alright, alright,” Sam muttered, steeling himself. It wasn’t like he’d never seen a man’s butt before, considering how much Dean loved to ride his face.  
  
“Good. Now quit playing around like a girl. Just get in there and take a look for me.”  
  
Reluctantly, Sam took one of Cas’ round, white buttocks in each of his hands and gently spread them open. Cas made a soft sound, maybe a whimper, but Dean easily kept him calm. “Easy, angel, it’s just Sam, remember Sammy? He just needs to check you out, and then we’ll get you something to eat, and then you can go to sleep, okay?”  
  
Sam hurriedly sluiced the sprayer over his crack and down his thighs.  
  
“What do you see?”  
  
“He looks fine.”  
  
Dean was peering at Cas’ face, which was pressed into his shoulder. “He doesn’t seem like he’s hurting. No redness, no scarring, anything?”  
  
“Nope.” Sam handed the sprayer back and stepped out to get towels.  
  
“Get yourself dried off and dressed first,” said Dean, helping Cas out of the tub and towards the towel Sam was holding open for him. Cas went docilely into Sam’s arms and accepted the soft terrycloth being wrapped around him. “Then bring back something of mine for him to wear.”  
  
Sam handed Dean a towel as well, then a bundled-up Cas.  
  
“Are you sure you’ll be alright with him?”  
  
“He doesn’t seem like he’s looking to cause trouble.” Dean leaned against the sink and guided Cas in to rest against him, gently toweling his hair.  
  
Sam hurried back to the bedroom anyway.  
  
He was trying not to remember the video he'd once watched, starring Dean's dick and Cas' ass.  Obviously Sam wore his collar now (although it wasn’t a collar at all – it was a handmade braided leather ring, which Dean had shyly slipped on the fourth finger of his left hand, before a long night of the kind of sex Sam suspected Dean liked best, where Sam just laid there like a blowup doll and let Dean do all the work).  But it still felt weird.  
  
Even though it would be petty to consider a catatonic man as competition.  
  
By the time Sam got back, Dean had already moved on through the hierarchy of needs. “What do we have that’s easy to eat?” he asked, clearly reviewing the contents of the kitchen cabinets in his head.  
  
Sam handed over a pair of Dean’s track pants, a soft, clean Henley, and Dean’s sweatshirt, for Cas. Pointedly, he had also brought a pair of boxer-briefs. He watched as Dean dressed himself and then Cas, talking to him in low tones, maneuvering his uncooperative limbs into legholes and sleeves.  
  
Cas seemed to like the sweatshirt best, nestling into it when it was draped over his shoulders. It was the first reaction he’d shown since he’d arrived. Sam told himself it wasn’t because the sweatshirt had been worn and smelled like Dean - motor oil and woodsmoke. He was probably just cold.  
  
“Sammy, don’t we have a jar of applesauce? From your low-fat baking kick?”  
  
“Yeah, I think so.”  
  
“That’d go good on your stomach, huh angel?” Dean patted the body part in question affectionately, pulling down his shirt. Cas didn’t react. “Sam! Get this man some baby food!”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes but obediently walked into the kitchen to look for the jar, finally finding it untouched in the back of the cupboard (the healthy baking experiments had not been a success: for reasons that weren’t entirely clear to Sam, Dean was a much better cook than him).  
  
He popped the lid off and rummaged through the drawers in search of a spoon as Dean came in behind him, towing Cas who was at least no longer quite so pungent.  
  
“Good,” said Dean, at the sight of the jar. “Take a seat, and I’ll hand him to you.”  
  
Sam barely dragged over one of their second-hand cane-backed chairs in time.  
  
“Dean!” Sam suddenly had a lapful – an armful – of damp, chilly flesh.  
  
“Put your arms around him,” Dean ordered. “Jeez Sam, this shouldn’t be this hard.”  
  
Sam scowled but wrapped one arm around Cas’ waist, anchoring him on his lap. Cas was slightly built and barely heavy, compared to Sam, who was aware that he was built, as Dean liked to say, ‘on the Clydesdale scale.’  
  
Cas settled back against Sam’s broad chest, letting himself be situated where Dean wanted him.  
  
“Okay, angel, just going to get you some water here first,” Dean murmured, turning his back to them and walking to the sink. Cas made a soft sound, what might have been dismay.  
  
“I’m here, right here,” said Dean immediately, his voice soothing. “It’s okay, angel. I’m coming right back. See?” He had a glass of water in his hands when he returned. “Gonna be a good boy and drink this all for me?”  
  
Sam swallowed automatically. Dean had babied him just like this, once. Watching as Dean coaxed Cas’ chin up, set the water to his lips and helped him drink it – watching Cas’ calm, trustful eyes, fixed on Dean’s face – it made Sam wonder if Dean missed playing the role.  
  
When Cas was gone, he’d try harder, thought Sam.  
  
“That’s better, huh angel,” said Dean. “You want to try some food now?” Cautiously, he brought the spoon to Cas’ lips, laden with the soft applesauce.  
  
When was the last time Dean had used that voice with Sam? Probably the stomach bug he’d gotten a few months back. Which hadn’t been very romantic, considering Sam was throwing up every twenty minutes.  
  
“That’s so good, Cas, that’s great,” Dean praised, as Cas swallowed feebly. Sam could feel the movement through the body in his lap.  
  
Since when was it this easy to please Dean? All he had to do was freaking _eat_. Sam ate every day!  
  
Stop it, he reminded himself. Whatever had happened to Cas, it was obviously something horrible, and he owed it to a fellow submissive to be mature about sharing the attention once in a while.

It was pretty obvious that Sam was an only child, he reflected wryly (Dean, of course, was a big brother to Joanna, who was off in California with her partner Meg).  
  
Anyway, his relationship with Dean was strong. Hell, they had sex pretty much every night, even after all these years! If Dean was bothered that Sam was less submissive than he used to be, he would have been comfortable saying something. Right?  
  
Cas was turning his face away from the spoon, and Dean was trying to coax him into taking another bite. “It’s not gonna upset your tummy, angel,” he promised, “it’s gonna taste good. See, Sammy likes it, huh Sam?”  
  
The spoon changed course and ended up hovering at Sam’s lips. He opened for it automatically and let Dean slide the spoon into his mouth, accepting a spoonful of sweet, bland puree.  
  
“Say ‘mm,’ Sammy,” said Dean, giving Sam a sharp look.  
  
“Mm,” said Sam, humbly.  
  
“That’s my good boy.” Dean reached up to wipe Sam’s lower lip with his thumb, cleaning off any extra fruit, meeting his eyes and smiling warmly for just a second. Then his eyes returned to Cas. “Now you, angel. C’mon, just one more. For me.”  
  
Obviously that was a request nobody could refuse; Cas let his head rest heavily on Sam’s shoulder and opened his mouth.  
  
“Good, good boy,” Dean soothed, petting his damp mop of hair. “Did great, angel, just great. Let’s get you upstairs to bed now, okay?”  
  
Dean soon had Cas tucked into the spare bed in the guest room, and spent a few minutes whispering softly while Sam watched awkwardly from the doorway. Then Dean kissed Cas’ forehead – “sleep tight, angel, Sammy and I’ll be right next door” – and left him already mostly asleep.  
  
Dean dragged Sam up the stairs to their own master bedroom, stripped him out of his clothes with greedy hands, and hustled him into bed. San would have liked to talk, but he was exhausted and it was obvious that Dean was too. Instead he held his questions and let Dean spoon him, naked, drifting off with Dean’s teeth at the nape of his neck.  
  
-  
  
For the next few days, Cas did nothing but sleep. He was like a puppet with the strings cut, barely moving, barely responding.  
  
Dean never seemed to get tired of catering to him. It seemed like every other minute he was making soup, washing sheets, fetching more blankets. He took a whole week off work: “not to worry, Sammy, Garth can cover for me at the shop” - pretty funny for a guy who previously claimed that if he left before 6, it’d bring on the apocalypse.  
  
Sam would leave for his morning class and Dean would be sitting on the bed reading aloud. He'd return at the end of the night and find Dean still there, trying to make Cas laugh with a long, rambling story about the time he made it with twins.  
  
“He’s getting better,” Dean insisted, when Sam raised an eyebrow. “He’s _seeing_ me now, you know, instead of looking straight through me.”  
  
But it had been almost a week, and still Cas hadn't said a word.  
  
“Someone’s got to be missing him,” Sam said reasonably. “Maybe we should start calling around, huh?”  
  
But Dean just shook his head. “Trust me, if anyone’s looking for him, it’s no one he wants to see.”  
  
Sam tried to be patient. He had to admit that, in general, Dean had accommodated him in their relationship a lot more than the reverse. They had moved to this area because the local college had the program Sam was interested in. Dean had started Smith’s Towing and Salvage (“the family business”) mostly to pay for Sam’s Ph.D. – although privately Sam was pretty sure he also liked playing the hero to stranded motorists. He’d built an addition on the house just so Sam could have a study (and the extra-large bathroom, but that was sort of a mutual benefit).  
  
“My little Sammy’s a scholar,” he’d say proudly to anyone that would listen, even though at present Sam was only adjunct faculty, making barely $1000 per credit hour.  
  
But now Dean was distracted and irritable every minute he was away from Cas. He'd skipped Sam's weekly sounding (“we gotta keep it down, for God’s sake, I just got him to sleep!”). He barely left the house except to buy ‘food that Cas would eat,’ and after three meals a day of porridge, pannacotta, and bread pudding, Sam would kill for something that wasn't made of milk and honey.  
  
The days and nights had begun to bleed together because every few hours Dean would be up to check on him, tuned into some Cas-frequency that Sam couldn’t hear.  
  
Case in point: the quiet of the dark house was split by a hoarse cry, and Sam woke to found himself alone.  
  
Cas.  
  
Sam strained to hear and thought he could detect a softer coo, coming from the direction of the guest bedroom.  
  
He got up and stepped into boxers, knowing he was breaking the rules because he wasn't supposed to dress himself without permission. But whatever, Dean could paddle him for it later, if he even noticed.  
  
He crept down the hallway towards the guest room, peering inside from the doorway.  
  
Dean was standing with his arms around the smaller man, rocking him slowly back and forth. Although he was silent, Sam could see Cas’ shoulders shaking slightly. Dean was rubbing his back, long strokes up at down his spine, patting his butt like a fussy baby.  
  
Sam knew better than anyone how warm, how safe Dean’s arms could feel, like he could protect you from the whole world.  
  
“He’s having nightmares,” he guessed, slipping in to stand by them.  
  
“Second one tonight,” said Dean grimly.  
  
“What can we do?”  
  
Dean rubbed his chin.  
  
“Maybe some herbal tea,” Sam suggested. “Or hot milk, maybe?”  
  
“I was thinking a nice warm enema,” said Dean.  
  
“Uhh … what?”  
  
“Well, it always makes you sleepy. Settles you right down.”  
  
That was true, but Sam didn’t feel exactly satisfied with the explanation.  
  
“I just thought … maybe it’d make him feel better, being nice and full,” said Dean quietly. His fingers were combing through Cas’ dark hair. “He's been a sub for as long as I've known him. He’s probably not used to sleeping empty. I mean, obviously we can't fuck him, but this could be the next best thing.”  
   
“Yeah, I just don’t think it's a good idea,” said Sam.  
   
“He needs to get some proper sleep, Sam. I’m worried about him. And what if this is the part of the problem, you know, why he's not recovering faster? We've been hands-off with him, but maybe we've been going about this all wrong.”  
  
Sam scowled. He wouldn't exactly call Dean _hands-off_ to date. “Well, then who cares what I think,” he sniped.

“Aw Sammy, don't worry, just because there's a new baby in the family doesn't mean daddy loves you any less,” Dean teased, nudging Sam's shoulder.  

Sam saw red. "Fuck you,” he said, surprised by the strength of his own reaction.

If he'd been hoping to goad Dean, he was disappointed; Dean just sighed. “And oh look, you just earned yourself one too. Lie on the bed, knees up. I’m gonna go get the stuff."  
   
“You can’t just – ”  
  
“ **Sam!** ”  
  
Sam fell silent. Dean’s voice had hit the tone where he wasn’t joking.  
  
“Get yourself naked and lie on the bed, on your back, nice and spread. Hands above your head. You argue with me again, you’re in time-out for the next twelve hours. Is that clear?”  
  
Sam chewed on his lip. “Yes Dean.”  
  
“Good boy. I’m going to find the other kit. Cas, stay here and wait for me.” He leaned over to pet Cas’ cheek. “We're gonna make you feel better, angel, okay?”  
  
Sam could feel Cas’ wide blue eyes, watching him in the dark room. He gritted his teeth and obeyed Dean’s directions, stripping out of his shorts and coming uncomfortably to lay next to Cas on the bed, naked.  
  
He both loved and loathed it when Dean got firm with him. Most of the time Dean treated him like a beloved pet, to be cosseted and stroked and spoiled. But every once in a while, he used his hard voice and Sam still found himself called to heel, helpless as a child. Obeying Dean wasn’t something he consciously thought about, it was just something that … happened.  
  
“There are my good boys,” said Dean, “look at you two, waiting so patient for me.” His voice had returned to his former silky tones. Sam gritted his teeth and waited out the routine. Dean laid a beach towel over the bed and set up the hanging bags.  
  
“Let’s get Sammy filled up first,” said Dean, still using his coaxing-little-kids voice, “and then you, angel. Sammy, you’ve been naughty so you’ll take yours on your back. Cas, roll onto your side. I’ll tell you when to pull your shorts down.”  
  
Sam closed his eyes, feeling the mattress shift as Cas rearranged himself on the bed. Huh, Dean was right; he really was more with it.  
  
“Here we go.” Dean took hold of Sam’s ankle and guided him to bend his knee, opening him up.  
  
Sam whimpered, his eyes filling with tears. He hated taking water; it made him too full and felt weird and he couldn’t come from it. Dean would only give him a small one, he knew, just so he would sleep, but he still didn’t want it.  
  
But he had made Dean angry and he deserved it.  
  
“S’alright, Sammy, I know it’s late and you’re sleepy and there’s a lot going on right now.” Dean murmured, stroking the hair out of his eyes. “You’re gonna feel better in just a second.”  
  
Sam sobbed anyway when he felt his legs pressed wider apart, a touch of KY. Then the cool plastic nozzle was slipping into him, just big enough for him to feel the stretch. He squirmed at the feeling of the tube sinking into his colon.  
  
“Ah-ah. Gonna cuff your hands above your head, if you can’t be good for me.”  
  
Sam moaned when he felt the first trickle of water. Like being peed into.  
  
“Take it for me quietly, sweetheart.” Dean rubbed his belly soothingly.  
  
The water exerted pressure on his insides – different than a toy, different than Dean’s dick or even his tongue. It felt like _too much_ , like he was an over-filled balloon. At least it was warm. The heat of it inside him made him feel drugged and heavy.  
  
He stopped struggling and went limp, his legs spread wide with the tube spearing up behind his balls. The water was still coming.  
  
A blanket was spread over him. He felt Dean checking the position of the nozzle. He closed his eyes, floating.  
  
“That’s my sweetheart.” A finger slid into his mouth and Sam automatically started suckling.  
  
“Sammy’s got an oral fixation like you wouldn’t believe,” Dean said conversationally, presumably to Cas. “Should have seen him sucking on his panties the other day.”  
  
Sam was too lethargic to dispute it. He licked at Dean’s finger sleepily, whining when Dean withdrew it.  
  
“Gonna be your turn next, angel. You want to be relaxed just like Sammy, don’t you?”  
  
Dean capped the tube and disconnected it from the bag, leaving the nozzle jutting obscenely out of Sam. He flipped the blankets down, Sam stretched full with all that water backed up inside him. He walked to the other side of the bed.  
  
“Easy angel, just gonna pull your shorts down a little, out of the way.”  
  
Sam turned his head on the pillow, opened his eyes blearily to watch. He could follow the process just by reading Cas’ expressions; he tensed almost imperceptibly as his rear was exposed, then let go at the sound of Dean’s voice. His cheeks were healthy pink as he was lubed. His eyelashes fluttered, and his lips formed a soft little O as the nozzle pressed into him. Then he relaxed completely, all the tension leaving his body as he took the water. “Good boy.” Dean kissed his forehead, lingering. “Bet that feels better, huh.”  
  
Sam was beginning to drift in and out.  
  
Dean sat between them on the bed. He rubbed low on Sam’s belly, a gentle massage. “Feeling good now?”  
  
“Mm-hmm.”

Sam started to squirm at the stretch, but Dean just kept rubbing gently. 

“Did I ever tell you about one of my first subs at the Facility?  Dude wanted to submit but man, he could just not give in.  Twisted himself up in knots, fighting himself, fighting me.  Finally I got together with the medical team and we figured out how to get him to relax."

Sam hummed, barely able to keep his eyes open.

"We get the guy strapped down, wrists and ankles, all set to give him an enema just like this – but right before we do it, the doc gives him some kind of paralytic.  And of course he’s naked, ass full of liquid, legs spread wide, surrounded by these strangers who are touching him, putting him on a catheter, an iv, taking his pulse.  He can’t move at all.  Then the doc gets him intubated.  He can’t close his mouth to keep her out, before he knows it he’s drooling around a tube stuffed down his throat, got it all taped in place.  We give him eyedrops because he can’t close his eyes, can’t blink.  He’s just gotta lay there and accept what’s happening."

Hands were pulling on Sam, sitting him up. He was guided across the room, over the tub.  He was aware of Cas somewhere nearby.  Someone tugged out the nozzle and Sam relaxed.  “So I’ve got this inflatable bag that he’s hooked up to, and he’s looking right at me.  I squeeze the bag, his lungs fill up with air.  I let it go, he exhales.  Easy as that.  After a while we tape his eyelids down but he knows it’s me on the other end of that tube, until finally he falls asleep like that.”

Sam was back in bed, the sheets already tucked around him.  He gripped Dean’s wrist and tugged feebly, indicating what he wanted. 

“Just a second, sweetheart.” Dean pulled the sheet up over Cas, whispering something too quiet for Sam to hear. Then he laid down behind Sam, nudging him forward to make room.  
  
It pushed him closer to Cas, who blinked at him sleepily, their faces inches apart.  
  
"When that guy woke up, I tell you, that was it.  He was a great sub, never had a single complaint out of him.  I heard he’s collared now and lives out in Phoenix." Dean slid his customary two fingers between Sam’s legs to rest against his hole.  His other arm was draped possessively over Sam’s waist, his hand resting on Cas’ hip.  "Go to sleep, Sammy." 

Sam’s eyes were too heavy to resist the order. Dean slid his teeth into the back of Sam’s neck.  
  
Sometime in the night, he woke to find them all tangled together. Cas’ head was resting on Sam’s shoulder, an unfamiliar weight, and Sam’s face was buried in the warm, secret curve of Dean’s neck.  
  
Sam closed his eyes and fell back asleep.  
  
If Cas had any more nightmares that night, nobody woke up to know.

-

The next morning Sam woke up on his belly, face pressed into the pillows by a strong hand in his hair. Dean was already inside of him, deep and thick, not thrusting yet, just churning carefully, buried deep.  
  
Sam managed a muffled groan.  
  
There had been many, many mornings that had started the same way; it was a mystery how Dean always seemed to manage it without waking him up. Sometimes he was taken in the middle of the night (Dean was a capricious sleeper) and Sam dreamed through most of it, even his own orgasm. He’d wake up to half-remembered pleasure and wet shorts.  
  
Dean tugged his hips up and sunk himself in a little deeper. “I love it like this,” commented Dean absently. “You open up so beautifully for me when you’re asleep. It’s like your body just knows what it needs.”  
  
Apparently what it needed was to be face down with his legs spread wide, Dean’s cock rearranging his guts.  
  
“Dean,” Sam complained, muffled by the pillow.  
  
“Mmm, so good, sweetheart,” Dean crooned, picking up the pace a little, his hips slapping against the plush of Sam’s ass. “Love you, just like this.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t help moaning in pleasure at a nice, solid stroke that lit him up from in the inside.  
  
“Comatose, you mean?” he said dryly, turning his face to talk.  
  
“You know I love you awake too,” said Dean consolingly, pinching his thigh. Then the hand in his hair nudged his face back into the pillow. “Mm, feel like I broke into your house to steal shit, found you sleeping here all alone.”  
  
Sam was already hard from where he was being rubbed against the mattress cover, and he had to admit there was charm to this kind of sex, where no action was required – or even possible – on his end. He was pinned and helpless under the weight of Dean’s body, the pillowcase mashed against his open mouth, and it was almost like being _forced._  
  
Certainly it would be difficult to communicate it if he wanted to stop. But after so many years, Dean knew what he wanted better than he did himself.  
  
“That’s right,” Dean soothed, “just gotta lie there like my sweet little sex doll, letting me use this nice clean hole of yours.”  
  
“Dean?”  
  
It was Cas, his gravelly voice unforgettable.  
  
Sam hissed, squirmed, but couldn’t get leverage to lift his head out of the pillowcase. Had to endure being held down by Dean’s hand between his shoulder blades.  
  
“Just a minute, Cas,” said Dean casually, as if it was not the first word the man had spoken. He thrust a little faster. “Mm. Sammy, tighten up.” His hand came down heavy on the side of Sam’s hip and his right buttock, a bright pop of pain that flared a second after the clap of sound. Sam automatically clenched down in surprise, gasping at the sudden magnitude of sensation, the reminder that he was impaled so deep on Dean’s dick.  
  
It was Sunday: Dean was mixing up the routine. Usually Sam was spanked on Fridays, in punishment for whatever infractions (perceived or imagined) he’d committed that week. Dean kept a tally on the corner of the white board in the kitchen that also kept their grocery list. The spanking bench was their hall table. Dean had screwed an iron ring in the back of it, hidden against the wall, to tie down Sam’s wrists.  
  
They’d had some really good sex on that bench.  
  
“That’s good,” said Dean, “again.” Spanking rhythmically, he soon had Sam squirming and whimpering, in front of God and everyone.  
  
Dean ground down and came with a satisfied grunt, depositing his whole load of hot, sticky cum deep inside Sam. Sam wondered if Cas was watching, couldn’t tell. He’d been conditioned to come after Dean did, and the wet, softening pressure in his ass was an irresistible cue. He came, his cries muffled in the fabric, wondering if Cas was staring at him, naked and helpless like this.  
  
“Good, good boy,” Dean soothed. “So perfect for me, just like that.” He pulled out as Sam whimpered, overstimulated and exposed, his wet, puffy asshole on display until Dean pushed his thighs together. Sam didn’t move at all. He was covered up by the sheets, his hair combed back from his face.

"Pretty as a girl," Dean sighed, fingering the silky strands.

"M'not a girl," Sam slurred.

Dean muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ' _my_ prettygirl,' and Sam groaned. 

Hands gently turned his head so he could breathe. His cheek rested in the wet spot where his mouth had been, and his soft dick was buried in the cooling load of come on the sheets.  
  
He still didn’t move.  
  
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” said Dean.  
  
“Yes.” Cas’ voice was low and rough. But he had always talked that way, Sam recalled now.  
  
“He’s much better behaved when he’s gotten a nice load fucked into his ass, that’s for sure,” Dean chuckled. “All of a sudden my evil hellion is a just a sweet little puppy, rolling over to bare his belly and beg for treats!”  
  
Sam might have rolled his eyes if he could have moved.  
  
“Guess I wore him out.” A big hand stroked over Sam’s hair, down the nape of his neck. It cupped Sam’s eyes, pressing them closed. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Dean murmured. “It’s still early.”  
  
When Sam woke up next, there was a thick, slippery set of beads, eased all the way up inside him, and he had no idea how they’d gotten up there.  
  
-  
  
A few hours had passed by the time Sam padded down the hallway to the kitchen, following the smell of bacon. Under the light streaming in through the kitchen windows, Dean was standing over the stove, humming quietly to himself. Sam watched him fondly.  
  
“Hey,” he said.  
  
Dean turned around, a smile on his face. “Hey Sleeping Beauty, look who’s up! Come sit down, I’ll make you a plate.”  
  
Obediently Sam sat, and was presented with an omelet made with tomatoes and green peppers. He hid a smile. Although Dean didn’t like vegetables, he always made them for Sam.  
  
“There’s bacon too,” said Dean, coming to sit next to Sam with a full platter. “Here, open up Sammy.” Delicately, he fed Sam a crispy strip.  
  
“Can I start?” asked Sam, chewing appreciatively. It was another of their rules; he asked permission before anything other than water passed his lips.  
  
“Sure, tuck in while it’s hot. Nobody likes cold eggs.” Dean went to go pour him a glass of orange juice, and Sam dug into to the omelet, pausing only to sip from the cup Dean held to his lips. “S’it good?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s real good. Thanks.”  
  
They ate in silence – well, Sam ate, while Dean nursed a cup of coffee.  
  
“Where’s Cas?” asked Sam finally.  
  
“Taking a nap. He sat up for a couple of hours. I got some scrambled eggs into him.”  
  
“He say anything else?”  
  
Dean shook his head. “He's a little clearer though. Stopped putting the Cas in casatonic.”  
  
“It's catatonic,” Sam corrected.  
  
Dean took a sip of coffee. “It’s funnier my way.”  
  
“You’re just lucky he wasn’t doubly traumatized by the sight of us fucking,” Sam grumbled. Not like he hadn't seen worse, obviously, but that was years ago.  They were out of the game now, and frankly it would be nice to be consulted on these things some times.  
  
“Nah, a good deep-dicking is a thing of beauty. Anyway, I figured it was important for him to watch.”  
  
“ … Uh, why?”  
  
“I don't know what happened to him, but he’s gun-shy,” said Dean. “I’ve never seen him like this; even when I’m right there with him, he’s tense. He’s always submitted so perfectly, freely and fully, like he was just _made_ that way, you know? Like he needs orders just to function.”  
  
Sam frowned. He understood Dean and Cas' past, but that didn’t mean he liked to think about it. “Okay?”  
  
“I figure he needs to be reminded how good it can be. Maybe if he sees us together, witnesses for himself that nothing bad happens … maybe it’ll help him come back to himself.”  
  
At least that was a goal Sam could get behind. He needed Cas on the road to recovery soon, because there was only room for one sub in a relationship, and Sam was it.  
  
“What’s your plan for today?” he asked, changing the subject.  
  
“I figure we let him sleep. He’s exhausted and he needs it. Let's just keep it low-key, veg out on the couch and watch the game?”  
  
Sam nodded. Low-key sounded good to him. Curling up on the couch sounded good too.  
  
“I think it starts in an hour,” said Dean. His fingers drifted over Sam's neck. “Wanna dry-hump until we get off, then fall asleep?”  
  
Sam was pretty sure he had accepted this offer before, but now he wrinkled his face up, pouting. “No.”  
  
“You wanna get fucked again?”  
  
Sam shook his head.  
  
“D’you want to fuck me instead?” asked Dean, flexible as always. “That sounds pretty good to me, riding my big strong stallion, huh?”  
  
“No,” said Sam, shaking his head. “I just want – I wanna lay down with you for a while, okay?” He stared up into Dean’s beautiful face. “Can we just lay there, and you pet my hair and call me sweetheart?”  
  
“Oh, you want to cuddle,” said Dean, eyes twinkling. “Like a girl. Is that what you’re saying?”  
  
Sam flushed.  
  
“C’mon, Sammy, say it. Tell me what you want and you can have it.”  
  
“I want to cuddle like a girl,” said Sam flatly.  
  
“My pretty pretty princess,” said Dean, with affection. “Ok, get on the couch, we’ll see what we can do. Jeez, you’d think this would be the advantage of banging a dude.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, and left his dirty plate on the table as vengeance. He walked into the other room and pretended not to feel guilty hearing Dean quietly clean up in the kitchen.  
  
He guessed he was getting another check on the spanking tally.  
  
But Dean didn’t seem annoyed when he joined him, just shifting Sam over on the couch so he could spoon up behind him and turn on the TV. Sam didn’t know why Dean bothered trying to be the Big Spoon when Sam had a good four inches on him, but he didn’t argue.  
  
Dean muted the commercials and started rubbing Sam’s chest.  
  
Sam sighed in pleasure. “Mm. Feels good.”  
  
Dean tweaked his nipple. “You like that, babygirl?”  
  
“Mm-hmm …” Sam bit his lip. “Hey Dean?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Is the girl stuff – the panties and things – is that because you want a woman sometimes?”  
  
“What? Jeez, I haven’t thought about pussy in years,” said Dean sounding offended. “Is that what you think?”  
  
“Then … why do you always call me girly nicknames?”  
  
“Because I like how it embarrasses you!” said Dean. “And maybe” – now it was his turn to flush – “okay, maybe I like the thought of you as my little housewife, you know? Waiting for me at home, and – depending on me to provide for you, take care of you.”  
  
Sam blinked. “Is that what you want?”  
  
“No, it’s just a _fantasy_ , like when I dress you in a robe and make you call me Doctor Sexy. I like you just the way you are. You think I’d trade your giant donkey dick for anything?”  
  
“You just ... like to picture me as your wife.”  
  
“Yeah, I wanna give you a strand of pearls and deny you the right to vote.” Dean kissed his shoulder. “Whattaya say, Sammy, you want to be my little woman, and we can play mommy and daddy to little baby Cas?”  
  
Sam smiled, but felt a flash of fear in his heart.  
  
He was Dean’s baby, him – not Cas. Him.  
  
“You know Dean, if you need something else to care for and order around, we can get you a dog.” Belatedly, he recalled that Dean had always been weirdly uneasy around dogs. “Or a cat,” he amended.  
  
“You know I'm allergic to cats,” Dean pointed out.  
  
“Okay, a – chinchilla, or a baby bunny, I don't care, you get my point!”  
  
“Your point that we should take Cas back to the store and replace him with a rabbit? Yeah, I got that point loud and clear.” Dean sounded amused. “You know, this sibling rivalry is getting a little old, Sammy.”

“ _Sibling riv-_ ” Sam gasped.

“Just be patient a little longer, Sammy, okay? He has no one to turn to now, and he’s always depended on a strong Dom to look after him.”  
  
“Yeah well, maybe he needs to grow out of it.”  
  
Dean put his hand under Sam’s chin and lifted it up. “Tell me what else _Cas_ needs,” he said.  
  
Sam bit his tongue. Shit.   
   
“Dean?” Cas’ voice was still gravelly, but familiar.  
  
Dean launched off the couch. “Angel! You feeling better?”  
  
“Yes. I believe so.”  
  
Now Sam could see more of the man he remembered in the dark-haired man wearing his pajamas. He had shaved, or Dean had shaved him. His back was straight, arms linked behind his back; he had always been oddly formal, for a man who had once co starred in a priest-kink porno with a Dom named Balthazar.  
  
“Hey Cas, good to see you’re feeling better,” said Sam.  
  
Cas nodded gravely in Sam’s direction.  
  
“Come take a spot on the couch!” said Dean, obviously itching to get a better look at his friend up close. Sam rolled his eyes at further evidence of Dean’s need to nurture.  
  
Cas obediently shuffled over to the couch and sat down – right between Dean and Sam, Sam couldn’t help but notice.  
  
Dean immediately planted a hand on his forehead. “You’re cold,” he fretted. “You probably shouldn’t be up and around so soon. Here, we’ll get you warmed up in no time.” He stripped off his own sweatshirt and wrapped it swiftly around Cas until he was bundled like a burrito, tucking in the edges.  
  
Cas accepted the attention, leaning thankfully into Dean's side. Sam realized that he would have felt compelled to insist he was fine.  
  
“There we go,” Dean soothed, combing a hand through Cas’ messy hair, straightening the strands a little. “S’that feel better?”  
  
Cas nodded quietly, biting at the dry skin of his lower lip.  
  
“Cas, can you tell us what happened?” asked Sam, still hoping there might be someone they could call or, you know, maybe someplace else he could go.  
  
Cas just blinked at him owlishly.  
  
“I mean, do you remember how you ended up here?”  
  
“I took a bus,” said Cas guilelessly. “After it stopped running, I walked.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s not really what I meant … ”

“It was a long way," said Cas. He was still nibbling on the skin of his lip.

“Stop that,” said Dean, thumbing it gently until Cas let it slip from between his teeth.

“But Cas – ”   
   
“Sammy, I don’t think he’s up to answering questions right now. Look, angel, we’re about to watch the game here, how does that sound?”  
  
Sam wanted to protest, but Dean’s hand settled on the back of his neck and squeezed.  
  
“Good.” Cas let his head rest against the pillows. “That sounds … good.”  
  
Dean’s un-muted the tv and settled in. His fingers slid up to Sam’s scalp, scritching softly. Sam didn’t care about either team playing and couldn’t have told you the score. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on nothing but his Dom’s touch.  
  
Cas was feeling better. Soon he’d be leaving, and everything would go back to the way it was.  
  
At halftime, Dean got up to fetch beers. Sam opened his eyes and realized Cas had fallen asleep, curled into the couch cushions. He had shrugged out of the sweatshirt, which was bunched up in his lap. One of his hands slid down into the heat of the place where Dean had been sitting.  
  
“Cas, you’re going to have to move when he comes back,” said Sam. “Cas?” He leaned over to touch the shorter man’s shoulder.  
  
Cas blinked around in confusion – and then, before Sam had time to react, hauled off and punched him across the cheek.  
  
“Cas!” yelled Dean from the doorway. Cas struggled as Dean ran to wrap both arms around his body, trapping his hands at his sides. “Shit, you okay Sammy?”  
  
“Yeah,” said Sam, touching his chin gingerly. “He’s really strong.”  
  
“Yeah, for a little guy, he’s got freaky weird strength,” Dean agreed. “Cas. Cas! Look at me. It’s Dean, okay? Cas!”  
  
Cas stopped fighting back and stared up into Dean’s face. “Dean?” He whispered, uncertain.  
  
Dean didn’t release him. “Yeah, it’s me. And you just popped Sammy. See?” Dean turned them around to face Sam, whose chin was already throbbing.  
  
“I … apologize, Samuel,” said Cas formally, although he seemed bewildered. He sagged heavily in Dean’s arms, who adjusted quickly to take his weight.  
  
“Alright, hey, here we go, let’s get you to the couch, okay. Sammy, we’ll get you some ice for that, stop touching it. Shshsh, here, Cas, just – sit here for a second, okay?” Dean patted his arm and got him sitting. “With me, Sammy.”  
  
Dazedly Sam followed him into the kitchen, where he got a strong hand under his chin, lifting it up to examine him critically.  
  
“I don’t think he cracked your jaw or anything,” Dean murmured to himself, his fingers stroking lightly over the mark. “Here, we’ll keep the swelling down.” He pulled a bag of frozen corn out of the freezer and broke it up in his hands, before gently smoothing it over the area of the bruise.  
  
Sam sighed in relief at the coolness, and the tender touch, although part of him instinctively tried to resist the coddling … if he gave an inch, he'd end up tucked into bed being spoon-fed soup for the next two weeks.  
  
“Does it hurt?” Dean asked, guiding Sam down to rest on his shoulder, his other hand rubbing Sam’s back. Yeah, Sam was going to have to man up or get ready for the Chicken and Stars.  
  
“It’s alright,” he said, muffled in flannel. “I pulled my head back as he hit me, it was more of a glancing blow.” Which was true, but still – ow. The little man packed a hell of a punch.  
  
Dean examined the bruise. “Everyone’s going to assume I’m a wife-beater,” he teased gently, combing Sam’s hair back.  
   
“…You get that I’m not actually your wife, right?”  
  
Dean smirked and kissed his head, handing him the ice. “C’mon, June. Let’s go see about the Beav.”  
  
He led them back to the living room, where Cas was waiting, practically vibrating with anxiety. “Sam,” he started brokenly, “I am so – I really – ”  
  
Dean snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor in front of the couch. “Knees, Cas.”  
  
Cas dropped so quickly Sam was afraid he would hurt himself.  
  
“Sam, you mad at Cas?”  
  
“No,” said Sam, shaking his head. “It was an accident.”  
  
“That’s right, it was. You sit here on the couch.” Dean steered him in front of Cas, who shifted to face him, looking up at Sam’s bruised face.  
  
“I apologize, nonetheless,” he said, as Dean went to look for the medicine chest.  
  
There was no doubting his sincerity; he looked like he was about to cry. Almost without thinking about it, Sam found himself patting Cas’ head the way Dean did. “It’s fine,” he said gently. “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
Dean came back with a proper ice pack and a bottle of painkillers. Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, it’s _fine._ ”  
  
“Careful, Sammy, or you’ll earn yourself a spanking tally for not letting me take care of you properly.”  
  
Unenthusiastically, Sam opened his mouth for the pills Dean fed him, then the rim of the glass full of water to wash them down.  
  
Sam glanced down and caught sight of Cas’ face, watching hungrily as Dean fussed. “What were you thinking about, Cas?” he wanted to know. “Were you having a bad dream?”  
  
“I … I made a mistake,” Cas whispered. He ducked his head, dropping his eyes to the carpet.  
  
“Hey, you don’t have to talk about it, angel,” said Dean, dropping a reassuring hand on Cas’ disheveled hair.

 

 

[ ](http://paxdracona.livejournal.com/10076.html)

  
“Unless you _want_ to talk about it,” Sam put it, shooting Dean a glare; his dom was being over-protective again.  
  
Cas bit his lip and said nothing.  
  
“Alright, enough. You’re still tired, angel. I want you to go back to the guest room and lay down for a little while. I’ll come back to check on you in a bit, okay?”  
  
Cas got to his feet. “Yes Dean.”  
  
Dean waited until he was out of earshot. “Maybe I should drive him to a hotel for the night,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “There could be more where that came from.”  
  
A part of Sam wanted to agree. But he couldn’t help remembering Cas’ horrified expression when he realized what he’d done, and the abject relief when he’d realized it was Dean, holding him back.  
  
“No,” said Sam reluctantly. “It was just an accident. It’ll be fine.”  
  
Dean lifted Sam’s face with one hand and kissed his forehead.  
  
“Such a sweet boy,” he murmured, gently stroking Sam’s swollen cheek. “How’d I get so lucky, huh?”  
  
Sam turned his sore face into Dean’s soft shirt and relaxed, letting himself feel safe and loved in his arms the way no one else could ever make him feel.  
  
He was stupid to be jealous of Cas. Dean didn’t want or need anyone but him.  
  
-  
  
Over the next few days Cas displayed gradual but continuous improvement. He had never been a very chatty guy, that Sam could recall, but he graduated to full sentences and even traces of dry humor. Dean stopped feeling the need to take his pulse and his temperature _every_ hour. He willingly ate whatever Dean put in front of him and slept when he was told to, although he still rarely made it through the whole night.  
  
He still didn’t talk about what had happened to him.  
  
No matter how Sam phrased the question, Cas never seemed to answer. “I made a mistake,” was the most he would say, before clamming up completely.  
  
Dean, of course, wouldn’t push him.  
  
“Don’t you think it’s important that he talk about it?” demanded Sam.  
  
“Not everybody needs to talks through their feelings, Sammy. He’ll tell us if he wants to, when he’s ready.”  
  
Eventually Dean had to go back to work, leaving Sam on Cas-duty during the day. (Although Sam liked to imagine that someday he’d get a tenure position and finally make enough money to take care of Dean, for once – at the moment, they needed the income from the shop).  
  
“Just sit with him,” said Dean, straightening his tie in the morning. “Ask him if he needs anything, and if he doesn’t, let him be. Okay?”  
  
Sam was half asleep, and couldn’t manage more than a vague grumble in reply.  
  
“Good boy,” said Dean, kissing his forehead goodbye. He turned down the lights as he left.  
  
All day Sam tried to follow his directions. Even though it meant that after he was gently but firmly rebuffed, he ended up re-grading term papers three times just to resist the urge to pry. It was a relief when he finally heard the familiar rumble of Dean's car in the driveway.  
  
“Sammy, I’m home!” Dean slammed the back door with what sounded like a foot.  
  
“How was work, dear?” Sam met him in the living room. And maybe he had a gin-and-tonic waiting, just to complete the fantasy.  
  
Dean kissed his cheek, sliding a hand back to fondle Sam’s backside. “Mmm, better now. How’d it go with the Beaver?”  
  
“I’m not entirely sure why you call me that,” said Cas, appearing seemingly out of nowhere in the doorway. Solemnly he accepted his own kiss on the cheek. “According to my research, it is a term for both a North American fur-bearing mammal, or a euphemism for the female anatomy. I am neither.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m guessing your research didn’t cover pop culture,” said Dean. “Look, Sammy made cocktails!” The distraction worked; Cas turned to examine the set of rocks glasses on the table, and Dean rolled his eyes fondly behind his back. He slid closer to Sam and drew him in, kissing his neck. “So, how’d you two make out?”  
  
“Fine,” said Sam uncertainly.  
  
“Fine,” echoed Cas.  
  
Dean shook his head. “I’m so convinced.” He finished his drink in a swallow and set the glass on the table. “Who wants to go mow the grass, eh? I’m thinking this guy!” he indicated himself with two thumbs, turning back to the door.  
  
“You’re tired,” said Cas, studying Dean’s expression. “Why don’t you rest here, and Sam and I will make you something to eat first.”  
  
“No, angel, that’s alright – ” Dean started to say.  
  
“Dean, you’ve been pushing yourself too far. You have been worried about me, and worried about Sam. We are both taken care of. Now you need to rest.” Cas laid his hand gently on Dean’s arm, expression sincere. “Yes?”  
  
Dean’s eyes darted to Sam, assessing him, and then smiled weakly. “I guess if you wanted to fix me a slice of pie …”  
  
“We’ll see. Come, Sam.” Cas ushered him into the kitchen.  
  
“Wow,” said Sam, when they were out of the room. “That was amazing! Dean never lets me tell him what to do.”  
  
“He wants to be strong for you,” said Cas absently, studying the kitchen cabinets. “But Dean has always taken on too much. While we are both here, making requirements of him, we will have to be attentive to the needs he won’t acknowledge.” Calmly, he began assembling a sandwich.  
  
Sam stared at him, open-mouthed. Okay, maybe even after all these years, he still looked at Dean with some natural hero worship. But that was how Dean wanted him to feel, he was sure. And here was Cas cutting through all of that, like he saw Dean as … just a man.  
  
“It is a little easier for me,” Cas added quietly, seeming to read Sam’s mind. “Dean has often been my Dom, but he is also my friend. We have been through a lot together.”  
  
The truth was, Sam didn’t think much about Dean’s life before they had met. Before seemed almost like it was some kind of dream, like it wasn’t real. Only Dean was real, the best thing that ever happened to him.  
  
“I … don’t really know how to feel about that,” Sam admitted.  
  
Cas nodded, looking down at the plate of food he was holding. “I understand.”  
  
“C’mon,” said Sam, pulling out another pair of plates, because Dean wouldn't want to eat alone. “Let’s not hold up dinner.”  
  
-  
  
Dean demolished the sandwich and demanded another cocktail, which Sam refused to make unless he finished all the water first.  
  
“Ordered about in my own home,” he grumbled, complying. “This is how it’s gonna be, huh, two against one?”  
  
“So ill-used,” Sam teased, slicing another wedge of lime.  
  
Cas was examining the bottle of liquor.  
  
“You’re looking a lot brighter today, angel,” said Dean. “You got some perk back in your step?”  
  
“I’m feeling much improved,” said Cas.  
  
“That’s what I like to hear.”  
  
“In fact, I have been thinking about my next steps, as it were.”  
  
Dean took a sip. “Oh yeah?” His voice was carefully neutral.  
  
“What are you thinking?” Sam piped up.  
   
Cas looked out the window wistfully. “I want to go someplace where there are mountains, and lots of trees,” he said. “Is there a bus from here to a place like that, do you think?”  
   
“Uh, nowhere close to _Kansas_ , no,” said Sam.  
  
“Cas, don’t feel like you need to leave before you’re ready,” Dean interjected. “You know you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want.”  
  
“Thank you. But I should not intrude longer than I already have.”  
  
“It’s not an intrusion, Cas. You’re our friend. We like having you here.”  
  
Cas shook his head. “Nonetheless. It is it time for me to be moving on.”  
  
“You’re not going anywhere until I’m confident you’ll be taken care of properly,” said Dean.  
  
“I’m not your responsibility, Dean,” said Cas quietly.  
  
Dean slammed an open hand down on the table, causing both Sam and Cas to jump “You damn sure are,” said Dean. “Maybe you’re not my sub, but you come to me cracked open and hollowed out, you gotta put up with me telling you what to do.”  
  
Cas closed his eyes. “I can’t – I don’t … know how to do this anymore,” he admitted.  
  
“What do you mean, angel?”  
  
Cas got up abruptly and walked to the bar. He poured himself a glass of gin, no tonic, and drank it straight.  
  
“Woah, easy there, Cas,” said Sam, standing up to stop him.  
  
“I have an excellent tolerance,” Cas assured him. He poured another few inches of liquid into his throat like a shot.  
  
“He does,” Dean confirmed. “I told you he was Russian. But I think that’s enough for now, eh Kasperov? Put down the bottle and talk to us.”  
  
Obediently Cas set down the bottle, which now contained nothing but the dregs.  
  
“You wanna tell me the problem?”  
  
“I’m a terrible sub,” said Cas dully.  
  
“Aw, angel,” said Dean, standing up and walking to him. “Hey, look at me. You’re a great sub, okay? Any Dom would be lucky to have you. You just need to get back up on the, uh, saddle.”  
  
“You do not understand. I have not submitted to anyone since the two of you left the scene.”  
  
Sam sucked in a breath. _Five years?_ He couldn’t even get through 24 hours without getting twitchy.  
  
“What happened, angel?”  
  
“There was no one I could trust at the Facility,” said Cas, his voice small. “For so long I searched for a Dom worthy of my submission, but I found only – lies and deceit.”  
  
Sam knew he’d been lucky to find Dean, but sometimes he forgot what a miracle it really was.  
  
“I decided I didn’t need to submit anymore. I left what was left of the Facility entirely. I wanted – ” Cas turned wide blue eyes at Dean – “I wanted to be like you, Dean. To make my own choices.”  
  
“You tried to Dom?” asked Sam, fascinated.  
  
“I thought I was ready, but ... everything went wrong,” said Cas, blinking hastily. “I was betrayed. I … I hurt people.”  
  
“Aw, angel.” Dean bent down and kissed his shoulder.  
  
Cas closed his eyes, letting Dean stroke his hair. “I don’t ever want to be in charge again,” he whispered. “But now I’m – useless, and broken.”  
  
Dean held him tighter, nuzzling his hair. “Hey, you just need a good Dom to take care of you. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”  
  
It was just like him, Sam thought, to dismiss all of a sub’s culpability and undertake the responsibility himself.  
  
“Please show me,” said Cas, shivering. “I know it’s too much to ask, but I can’t – I can’t.”  
  
“Hey, hey, sh sh sh. That’s enough. Shush.” Dean fitted his big hand over the curve of Cas’ head, drawing him in to rest against Dean’s chest. His eyes met Sam’s over Cas’ head, grim. “He needs to be Dommed, real bad,” said Dean.  
  
Sam remembered how when he’d first appeared on the scene – a scared, mixed-up sub – Cas had been a model for him to learn from; proud, at peace, dignified in his submission.  
  
He looked at the dark-haired man now, huddled in Dean’s arms. “Maybe you should do it,” he said quietly.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I know you want to help him. Go on, Dean. It’d be – just this once.”  
  
“I’m not going to cheat on you, sweetheart,” said Dean quietly. “Not ever. I made a commitment to you, and I’m going to keep it.”  
  
Sam fingered the woven leather ring around his finger. “But it’s _Cas,_ ” he said.  
  
“Exactly. That's why if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it together.”  
  
Sam was pretty sure his mouth had actually fallen open. _“What?”_  
  
“Well, I can't fuck him, obviously ... but you could, with my permission.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard. Unbidden, an image occurred to him, of the three of them tangled together. Like the morning they’d woken up all in the same bed.  
  
Dean craned his neck to look at Cas. “How’s that sound to you, angel?”  
  
“Good,” said Cas, voice a low rumble.  
  
“Whattaya say, Sammy?”  
  
Sam chewed on his lip.  
  
“Cas, why don't you give us a minute here, hmm?” Dean kissed Cas’ temple.  
  
Cas' expression was serene; just asking for what he wanted clearly improved his outlook already. “Yes, Dean.”  
  
Dean watched him go, then turned to Sam. “Baby, if you’re not sure about this, I’ll put a stop to it right now.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “I feel … okay with it, actually,” he said, listening to the sound of the shower turn on in the other room. “I mean, you’ll … you’ll be there the whole time, right?”  
  
“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll do all the work, you’ll just be the toy I fuck him with.”  
  
Sam shivered. It was incredible how Dean still had the ability, after so many years, to make him feel like a blushing virgin.  
  
“Does that sound good, Sammy? I'll help you give Cas what he needs, and meanwhile I’ll give you what _you_ need. All you gotta do is exactly what I say. You think you can do that?”  
  
Sam nodded wordlessly.  
  
The water shut off in the other room.  
  
“Just … promise me nothing’s going to change?” said Sam. _Promise me you'll never like him more than me._  
  
“Hey.” Dean leaned forward and pulled Sam down to rest their foreheads together. “Nothing could ever come between us. You know that.”  
  
Sam took a deep breath. “Okay.”  
  
Dean grinned boyishly up at him. “How 'bout you go wait in the bedroom, while I go and net our little birdie?”  
  
Sam nodded. He walked down the hallway and stood at the foot of the bed, trying to seem calm and confident when Dean appeared in the doorway.  
  
“Lose the shirt,” said Dean casually to Cas, who came in behind him.  
  
“Yes, Dean.”  
  
Slowly, Cas slipped out of Dean’s AC/DC shirt, folding it carefully and laying it over the bench at the foot of the bed.  
  
Sam could remember being fucked on that bench, many times, laying there as limply as the discarded shirt.  
  
He blinked the thought away.  
  
“Pants now, angel. Show Sammy what he’s dealing with.”  
  
Cas had never had much shame, not in the old days, and apparently not now. Without any seeming hesitation, he opened the fly of Dean’s pants and lowered the zip, then pushed them off of his slender hips.  
  
“And the shorts, smart ass.”  
  
Obediently, Cas dipped his finger under the waistband of his boxers, lowering them slowly.  
  
“Looks real pretty, doesn’t he Sammy,” asked Dean.  
  
Sam nodded, a little nervously. Cas did look good – pale, and innocent, his skinny body exposed while Dean and Sam were still dressed. Like Sam, he was entirely hairless except for a well-groomed little cloud at the base of his dick.  
  
He was hardening obviously, most of the way full already.  
  
“Look at this sweet little bubble butt.” Dean stroked it affectionately. “Needs to be fucked, huh? Whattaya say, Sammy, you think you’re up for that?”  
  
Sam nodded, falling quiet the way he often did during a scene. He didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to make Dean happy.  
  
“Cas, you wanna get on the bed?” said Dean. “Does that sound good to you?”  
  
“Yes Dean.”  
  
“That’s right, right there on the mattress. Sammy, come over here. And take your shirt off for me, sweetheart.”  
  
Sam squirmed out of his shirt, tossing it carelessly over the one Cas had folded nicely.  
  
“Hands above your head, angel. Grab the headboard.” Cas complied. "Hold them there for me. Don't need to tie you down, do I?" The bed was of course equipped for every kind of restraint known to man, but Dean apparently wasn’t looking for that tonight.  "Gonna keep yourself nice and still for me, all on your own, huh?"    
   
Cas nodded shyly.  
  
“He’s gonna feel real good, Sammy,” said Dean. “Real warm and welcoming. You’re gonna love it. Angel, anytime you’re ready, spread nice and wide for Sam now.”  
  
Cas hesitated, minutely.  
  
“Hey angel, no, sh sh sh, look at me.” Dean cupped Cas’ cheek in his hand and turned his face so their eyes met. “That’s good,” he said, “look at me. We’re not gonna hurtcha. He just wants to look, okay?”  
  
Slowly, Cas drew up his knees, letting them fall open.  
  
“That’s right.” Dean took hold of his thighs and spread them wider, until Sam could see the little pink divot of his anus.  
  
“So pretty, angel.” Cas was relaxed now, breathing softly, looking at Dean, who was holding his gaze. “Alright now, you stay just like that.”  
  
Cas was obediently still, and Sam stood where Dean positioned him, at the end of the bed between Cas’ spread thighs.  
  
His eyes kept returning to Cas’ tender little hole, which fluttered shyly under his scrutiny. It was slick and shiny.  
  
Was that what he looked like, when they did this? So open, so vulnerable?  
  
Dean opened Sam’s pants and pulled out his twitching dick, casually, as if he owned it. Which he basically did.  
  
“Look at this massive thing,” said Dean, stroking Sam. “What do you think, angel, you want it up your ass?”  
  
Cas nodded.  
  
“You’d like that? Being split open on this colossal dick? Having it push up into you, all hot and hard in your tight, tiny little hole?”  
  
“I would like that,” Cas confirmed.  
  
Dean smiled. “Yeah you would. Did you get yourself nice and ready for him?” Dean asked.  
  
Cas nodded mutely, then groaned in pleasure as Dean slid a finger between his legs to check. His knuckles were white where they gripped the headboard.  
  
“Mm, you feel nice in here,” said Dean calmly. “I can feel your little hole contracting all around my finger. Do you like this, angel?”  
  
“Yes,” said Cas breathily. “I like it.”  
  
Dean leaned down to kiss Cas’ forehead, stroking his dark hair back. “Your safe word is stop, or no, or don’t, okay? Sammy’s the one who likes to struggle; you just need to take it like a good boy for me.”  
  
“Yes, Dean.” Cas was staring devotedly up at him, and Dean smiled back. Sam was reminded again that they’d had sex before, many times, before either of them even met Sam.  
  
For the first time, the thought didn’t really bother him.  
  
Dean rolled a condom over Sam, which was unfamiliar after so many years. Then he molded himself against his back, hands settling warm and possessive on his hips.  
  
“Feelin’ good, angel, all spread out for Sammy and me?”  
  
Cas nodded.  
  
“Step up, Sammy,” he said. “Go on, up on the bed.” He guided him up to kneel between Cas’ spread thighs. “Hands either side of him, sweetheart. Brace yourself for me.”  
  
Sam’s hips dipped over Cas’ naked groin, feeling the rub of their dicks through the open fly of his pants.  
  
“Angel, you wanna suck on his chest? It’s right there, if you can reach.”  
  
Sam hissed as a warm, wet mouth closed over his left nipple. He was very sensitive there, as Dean well knew, and the brush of teeth had him gasping. He might have pulled back, but Dean’s hand curled around the back of his neck, holding him in place until Cas pulled off with a smacking sound.  
  
“Yeah, Sammy loves to have his titties sucked on,” said Dean affectionately, patting Sam’s jean-covered butt as he withdrew and allowed Sam to straighten up.  
  
“Jerk,” Sam muttered, although he felt like all his blood was rushing straight to his dick with each throb of his nipples.  
  
He looked down at Cas, who was pressed flat underneath him, his mouth open, eyes shut.  
  
“Kiss him, Sammy.” Dean took a firm grip of Sam’s hair – Sam hissed at the light burst of pain – and pushed his head down, mashing their mouths together.  
  
Sam felt a little bit like a Barbie doll, being played with by a bossy twelve year old girl. He couldn’t kiss properly, not with Dean holding him at the deliberate wrong angle. Instead Cas’ pink tongue darted into Sam’s open mouth and Sam groaned.  
  
Dean pressed Sam's hips down into a messy grind against Cas, which must have felt amazing to the man beneath him, who was totally bare. Cas’ frantic moans, muffled in Sam’s mouth, seemed to suggest it.  
  
“Gotta relax for Sammy’s dick, okay, angel? He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants it to feel real good. Don’t you, Sammy?”  
  
Unable to speak, Sam nodded urgently.  
  
“Up,” said Dean, his voice steady, confident of being obeyed, the voice you would use to call a well-trained dog to heel.  
  
Sam lifted himself obediently.  
  
With one hand Dean took a good hold of the base of Sam’s dick, the other hand an anchor on his hip. Sam could feel the heat of him through the fabric at his back; Dean was fully dressed.  
  
Dean nudged the head of his dick between Cas’ pale buttocks, which relaxed to receive it. But instead of pushing him forward, he rubbed it gently over the soft, wrinkled skin.  
  
“Tell Sammy you want it,” said Dean.  
  
“I want it,” said Cas. “Please, Dean.”  
  
It seemed right, thought Sam, that Cas should be asking Dean and not him.  
  
Dean steered him in, shouldering Cas’ thighs open to receive him. Sam’s heart was thundering. He hadn’t ever fucked anybody but Dean, and usually Dean did all the work.  
  
“Deep breath, angel,” said Dean. “Here we go.”  
  
He took hold of Sam’s hips with both hands, controlling all movement. He held him back until Sam grunted in protest, straining forward.

Then he pushed him firmly in.  
  
It felt amazing, the yielding flesh giving way to his dick. Sam groaned, unable to go slow and savor the sensation with Dean forcing him down. It was too good, too much. Dean got buried all the way up to the hilt, unable to thrust further, and Sam rutted blindly him with nowhere to go.  
  
“Easy, Sam. Hey, it’s okay. I’m here,” said Dean. “I’m here, Sammy.” He stroked a hand over Sam’s back, rubbing between his shoulderblades until Sam relaxed and came back to himself.  
  
Dean reached around to free him from the pants and boxers which were trapped under his cock and balls, pulling them down Sam’s thighs and down around his knees. Sam keened and the cold air on his skin, and Dean patted his bare butt with affection, smoothing his hands down his sides. “Good boy,” he murmured.  
  
“Come _on_ , Dean,” said Sam, fidgeting.  
  
“So impatient,” Dean chuckled. “Look at Cas, he’s not in any hurry, are ya angel. You’re just going to wait as long as I tell you, offering up your little hole whenever I want, hmm?”  
  
“Yes, Dean,” said Cas. Heavy-lidded, relaxed, his eyes were calm and trusting, locked on Dean’s face, the brightest blue that Sam had ever seen. Dean brushed a thumb across his lips and Cas turned his face into it, opening his mouth like a baby bird.  
  
“M'coming, baby.”  
  
Sam groaned at the feeling of strong hands, prizing his butt-cheeks apart, spreading him wide. He made himself relax for it, panting as a slick finger probed carefully at his tight-clenched asshole.  
  
“Doan’ … wanna … come,” gasped Sam, frantically shoving back against the penetration. Pressure skated across his prostate and Sam wailed, feeling a wave of heat all the way down to his curling toes.  
  
“Gotcha, I gotcha Sammy.” Dean’s hand whipped around to the pulsing place where Sam was still joined to Cas. He wrapped his fingers tight around Sam’s cock and squeezed hard. Sam whined as the pressure in his balls eased off. “That’s right, steady, Sammy. Hold on for me, okay? Want you to give Cas a nice long fucking. Know you can go like a battering ram when you need to. He needs to be pounded, don’t you angel?”  
  
The wet, familiar head of Dean’s dick nosed against Sam’s hole. He groaned and shifted back to take it, feel it better.  
  
“That’s right, that’s what you need, isn’t it. Mm, Sammy sammich,” Dean whispered. Sam might have rolled his eyes at that – puns, Dean, really? – but instead they rolled back in his head as Dean tugged him back, part way out of Cas’ tight heat, and on to Dean’s dick.  
  
The sensation of both penetrating and being penetrated was almost more than Sam could process.  
  
“Here we go, sweetheart.” Dean fucked into him slowly, a series of short, deep pushes that had Sam seeing stars. He pressed Sam flat over Cas, so the smaller man was bearing their entire weight. Cas didn’t offer any complaint, shifting to accommodate as best he could with his hands still wrapped tight around the bars of the headboard and his lower body pinned.  
  
“ _Dean,_ ” Sam moaned, muffled in Cas’ chest.  
  
“C’mon, Sammy,” said Dean, “lets give him what he needs, hmm?”  
  
The snap of Dean’s hips transferred into Cas, who moaned softly and tipped his pelvis up to receive it.  
  
“So good,” Dean hummed, leaning over Sam’s shoulder to kiss Cas. Sam hadn’t been sure how it would feel, watching Dean kiss another man, but somehow he felt okay with it.

 

 

[ ](http://paxdracona.livejournal.com/10076.html)

  
Cas didn’t pretend to try and take control of the kiss like Sam did. He didn’t have to be held in place. He kept his head resting on the pillow and sweetly accepted Dean’s mouth, opened quietly to allow the tongue between his lips. Dean stroked his knuckles over the stubbly cheek, and Cas leaned unashamedly into the pressure, closing his eyes.  
  
“Good boy,” said Dean, his lips only milimeters from Cas’. “Let Sammy take care of you now, he’s gonna make you feel real good.” Cas nodded, letting his head drop against the pillow as Dean leaned back, gripping tightly hold of Sam’s hips and picking up the pace.  
  
Numbly, Sam let Dean steer him through the strokes, feeling the recoil in Cas’ body even as Dean drove into him from behind. Distantly he was aware that he was moaning. He felt as though Dean was fucking Cas through him, like he was just an extension of Dean’s own dick.  
  
He settled into a steady, driving rhythm that had Sam grunting out his breath on every stroke.  
  
“Now, what were you saying before, sweetheart? You wanted it nice and hard, right?” Dean began to pick up speed, slamming Sam harder and faster into Cas.  
  
“S’good,” Sam managed. “S’so good, Dean, mm, more.” He let himself go loose except for raising his hips, offering his ass for each relentless stroke, and heard Dean muttering in his ear, _Sammy, Cas, sweetheart, mine, angel, mine, baby, my baby, **mine.**_ Sam didn’t even know which one of them he meant anymore, and it barely mattered.  
  
He leaned forward and buried his face into Cas’ shoulder, feeling as if he couldn’t take any more.  
  
One sudden jab and Sam came, screaming at the sudden overwhelming rush, and felt almost simultaneously the wet spurt of Cas’ dick against his stomach, painting them both with a sloppy mess. Cas was silent as he came, biting his lip, eyes fixed over Sam’s shoulder, at Dean. But he lifted a hand to stroke Sam’s hair, pressing a gentle kiss against his sweaty temple.  
  
“Come, Dean,” he murmured. “You’ve done such a good job, now it’s your turn. Come.”  
  
Dean swore, buried his teeth in the back of Sam’s neck, and filled his ass, thrusting through it slowly. Sam groaned feebly, instinctively pressing back against him, wanting everything he had to offer.  
  
When Dean’s hand dropped down to rest on the pillow, Cas turned his head to kiss his knuckles.  
  
Sam dozed through the next few minutes, barely aware of being rolled on to his back, the warm rag cleaning off his stomach. Vaguely he was aware of Cas, next to him, receiving the same treatment. Someone striped the condom off of his dick, wiped down his cock and balls, slid between his legs to clean where he was wet and throbbing.  
  
At some point a warm, drowsy bundle of Cas was rolled into his arms, the blanket tucked tight around both of them. The lights went out, then someone bent to stroke the hair out of Sam’s face, kissing his lax lips. Sam barely opened his eyes to see Dean repeat the ritual, Cas barely able to form a pucker when Dean brushed a kiss over his mouth. Then the mattress dipped on Sam’s other side as Dean crawled into bed, the blankets lifted quickly as Dean slid in and molded himself against Sam.  
  
Sam fell deeply asleep as soon as his Dom’s fingers slipped to their accustomed spot between his legs.  
  
-  
  
Sam was awoken an indeterminate amount of time later. Without moving, he opened his eyes and tried to figure out what had woken him.  
  
“Dean,” murmured Cas. “Dean, it’s alright. Wake up.” Sam turned his head to look. Cas was sitting on the edge of the bed, close to Dean’s head. Dean was shifting on the pillow. Cas reached out, gently, to stroke Dean’s forehead. “It’s alright, Dean.”  
  
He'd always been a restless sleeper.  
  
Cas had caught sight of Sam’s slitted eyes in the darkness. “Go back to sleep, Samuel,” he said quietly. “It’s alright.”  
  
Sam obediently closed his eyes but couldn’t drift off. Vaguely he was aware of soft voices talking nearby.  
  
“Shit. I wake him up?” That was Dean’s low whisper. The mattress shifted. Sam kept his eyes closed. The blanket was adjusted, tucked tighter around him, then a kiss was planted on his forehead. Dean’s movements were confident, practiced; it clearly wasn't the first time he'd petted Sam in his sleep.  
  
Sam kept his breathing soft and even.  
  
“How’re you feeling, angel?” Dean was trying to keep his voice down, obviously believing Sam was still asleep.  
  
“Better. Thank you, Dean.”  
  
“Hey, you should be thanking Sammy, he did all the work.”  
  
“I should thank you both, for allowing me to share in your happiness,” said Cas quietly. “I’m … going to miss you.”  
  
Sam felt the mattress move as Dean shifted closer to Cas. “Aw, c’mere, angel.”  
  
It was quiet for a long time. “You know I’m expecting you to come visit all the time, now that you know where we are. Don’t let another five years pass without seeing us, okay?”  
  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Cas quietly. “You are Sam have a good life here. I won’t be the cause of spoiling it.”  
  
“You don’t spoil it,” said Dean firmly. “I don't like you popping in and out of our lives. I want to know that you're not out there somewhere, needing me, and I won't know it until too late. I need to know that you’re … happy.”  
  
“You make me happy,” said Cas, in a small voice. “You and Sam.”  
   
Dean exhaled, and Sam felt the air rush over his face.

“I wish … I don’t know what I wish for,” said Cas.  
  
“Let’s just sleep, okay?” murmured Dean. “This will all seem better in the morning.”  
  
After that, there was silence.  
  
Sam dared to peek, and found that he could make out the shape of them in the half-light, Cas curled around Dean’s side, head on Dean’s shoulder, Dean’s hands stroking his hair.  
  
Long after their breathing turned soft with sleep, Sam laid awake, thinking.  
  
-  
  
The next morning Sam stayed in bed long after he heard Dean – who got up with the sun most days – throw back the blankets and slide out. He drifted in and out, distantly aware of Cas leaving too, and the distant, domestic sound of breakfast being prepared.  
  
“Hey Sammy? You gettin’ up this morning?” Dean came back and Sam peered around through bleary eyes.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“It’s almost noon, buddy. Did we wear you out?” Although Dean’s words were teasing, there was a hint of concern in his tone. He sat on the bed, combing Sam’s hair back from his face. “You feeling okay?”  
  
Sam leaned into the touch. “I’m fine. Promise.” He looked around the room. “Where’s Cas?”  
  
“He’s in his room. He’s … packing up.”  
  
Sam sat up all the way. “What?”  
  
"Yeah. Gave me some bullshit lines this morning about feeling better, being ready to get back out there. Wouldn’t hear any disagreements. I convinced him to at least let us drive him to the airport, I think he was going to just walk to a bus stop.”  
  
“No,” said Sam, “I want him to stay.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Can you call him? Please?”  
  
“Sure.” Dean stood up. “How about I go get him.”  
  
Sam pushed back the blanket and went to the bathroom to pee and brush his teeth. When he got back, Cas was sitting on the unmade bed with Dean standing next to him.  
  
“So what’s up, Sammy?”  
  
“I’ve been thinking,” Sam started bravely. “Cas, if you have any desire at all to stick around with Dean and I … I think you should do it.”  
  
“But …” Cas looked up at Dean, wide-eyed. “Did you put him up to this?”  
  
Dean’s expression was unreadable. “I didn’t say a word,” he said. “Sammy, where’s this coming from?”  
  
“I love you, Dean,” said Sam honestly. “I love you more than anything in the world. And you love Cas." Seeing his Dom open his mouth to defend himself, Sam continued hurriedly, "and, you love me too. I don't doubt that, not ever, even for a second. But – with him here, it's like ... we all fit, you know?”  
  
He ducked his head, suddenly afraid he’d spoken out of turn.  
  
"Sammy, you know you're enough for me," said Dean, sounding puzzled. "I mean, of course I love Cas,” he paused to kiss Cas’ rumpled bed-head. “But that means I love him enough to find him the kind of Dom that he needs, and not risk trapping him in a situation if I’m not sure it will work out.”  
  
So noble, Sam thought, shaking his head. Always such a martyr. “In the beginning, maybe I was kind of jealous,” he admitted, “but now, seeing how we are together - I just feel like … I don’t know, I’m willing to see what’s there. If you two are too. You already said we were like a family,” he pointed out. "That's what I feel too."  
   
“I said we were mommy and daddy to baby Cas,” Dean recollected. “But that’s not really true … if anything, we’re more like brothers, all three of us."  
   
“Gay, incestuous brothers?” said Sam skeptically.  
  
“Yeah, okay, maybe not,” Dean said. “And I’d be the _oldest_ brother, just so we’re clear.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. Okay. He looked over at the other man. “Cas, what do you think?”  
  
“I think … the thought of staying here, and joining your family … " Cas broke off. "I've been told I do not have much imagination,” he said quietly. “But that sounds … as close to heaven as I can imagine.”  
  
“Well, okay then,” said Dean, his voice gruff with emotion. “Sounds like we need to give this a try.” He put his arms around Cas’ shoulders, tugging him in, and with his other hand reached for Sam.  
  
Cas’ eyes were bright. Sam found himself feeling a little shaky too, overcome with emotion. Dean kissed the top of his head.  
  
“I can’t believe we finally get to have a threesome, and it’s with another dude.”

 

 

 

 

**The End**

[ ](http://paxdracona.livejournal.com/10076.html)

  
[ __**_ _ ](http://paxdracona.livejournal.com/10076.html) __[Don't forget to check out all the incredible art by](http://paxdracona.livejournal.com/10076.html) [Paxdracona](../../../../users/Paxdracona/pseuds/Paxdracona)!!**__

 


	5. Timestamp: Lives Past and Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is a Dom, so it’s his job to take care of Sam and Cas. But when he comes down with the flu, can his subs figure out how to take care of _him?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Written for the[Team Free Will Big Bang.](http://tfwbigbang.livejournal.com/)**
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> This is a standalone timestamp to an old story, _Surrender_. You do not need to read the previous parts to understand this fic: just imagine that instead of the Smith and Wesson world we saw in the episode, Zachariah transported the boys to the BDSM scene. They escaped his machinations are now happily living in an established polyamorous relationship with Cas. So basically, no hunting, no apocalypse, and the boys don't know they're related.
> 
> (And, if you preferred _Surrender_ without Cas, feel free to consider this chapter and the previous as an optional director's cut.) 
> 
> A huge thank you to my fabulous artist [Paxdracona!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Paxdracona/pseuds/Paxdracona)

Of course it was all Sam’s fault.

Sam was the one who had invited ‘Typhoid Charlie’ over for charades night, which was how both he and Cas had been infected with the flu in the first place.

And it was Sam who always reacted badly to a fever. Cas had been sick too, but of course he was _cute_ sick, all blue eyes and pink cheeks, tucked into bed right where Dean left him, the thermometer under his tongue.

It was Sam who was raving, puking out his guts out in the bathroom, staging epic escape attempts from blanket prison only to pass out face-down in the hallway. He could vaguely remember sobbing hysterically about monsters in the dark while Dean crooned and rocked him and promised it would _be okay in the morning, Sammy, just come back to bed with Cas and me, alright baby?_

Yeah, it had been a long couple of weeks.

But thank God, it seemed to be over now. Sam was almost back to eating his regular mammoth quantities, Cas had managed a load of laundry that morning, and Dean felt comfortable leaving them to go back to work - the first day he’d left them alone since Cas had gotten sick, even though he didn’t like leaving _Smith’s Towing and Salvage_ with Garth in charge for so long.

As though he could tell Sam was thinking about him, Dean chose that moment to come out of the bedroom dressed for work. “Alright guys, I’m headed out,” he announced. Sam felt a stab of guilt; Dean looked exhausted. He had been running himself ragged trying to take care of both of his subs at once.

“Have a good day, Dean,” said Cas, offering a brown paper bag that presumably contained the lunch he’d packed.

“Thank you, angel,” Dean said, kissing Cas’ forehead, and not-so-subtly checking it for fever.

“Dean, I am fine,” said Cas placidly, accepting the attention. “It has been several days since I had a temperature.”

“Hmm,” said Dean, obviously not convinced. He reached for the open med kit on the counter, which had experienced a lot of use lately.

“Dean, I assure you, I’m alright,” said Cas.

“Need to check your temperature, angel,” said Dean, unpersuaded. “Open up.”

He eased the thermometer into Cas’ obediently open mouth, stroking his sub’s dark hair back soothingly. Cas kept his eyes fixed on Dean, humming in pleasure at the gentle petting while they waited for the beep.

“Ok, alright, you’re good,” said Dean, checking the reading. “But stay off your feet today, drink lots of water, no caffeine. We can’t have any relapses, capiche?”

“Capiche,” said Cas meekly.

“Take a break every hour or so and eat something, even if it's just a couple bites. Sam, make sure he eats? Even if he says he's not hungry or it tastes like molecules.”

“That was one time,” said Cas with dignity. “And I had a fever.”

“I'll make sure he eats,” said Sam, rolling his eyes. Dean worried that Cas was too skinny. Personally Sam didn't really think he was, although he was smaller-framed than either Sam or Dean; their Dom just tended to fret.

Cas of course seemed to soak up the attention like a sponge.

“And don’t sit in the bay window, you know there’s a draft,” Dean concluded. He wiped down the thermometer and covered it with another plastic sheath. “Your turn, baby,” he said, summoning Sam imperiously.

Sam put down his book and presented himself with a sigh. “Dean, I’m fine. I had a good night, and I drank a lot of water. I feel almost a hundred per cent, I swear.”

Dean washed his hands, then lifted Sam’s chin to peer into his eyes. “You only started getting back to normal yesterday. Don’t get cocky.”

Sam huffed.

“Promise me, Sammy. You’re taking it easy today,” Dean persisted.

“I promise,” said Sam, rolling his eyes.

“Good boy.” Dean kissed his forehead in turn. Sam wished he could get a real kiss, but that was verboten until the period of contagion has passed. “Alright, temperature check.”

Sam sighed but opened his mouth and lifted his tongue, prepared for the thermometer.

“Ah-ah,” said Dean. “Face down over the counter, and drop your trousers. Cas, hand me that Vaseline, wouldja?”

_“Dean!”_

“What, it’s more accurate! Don’t make a fuss, Sammy, I gotta make sure you’re back to a normal temperature before I can leave you alone all day.”

“I’m going to be here,” Cas pointed out.

“Yeah well, I don’t exactly see you standing up to him when he’s being a dumbass and pushing himself too far,” said Dean, patting Cas’ hand absentmindedly. “Sammy, enough dawdling, bottoms up.”

Sam opened his belt, feeling a familiar frisson of excitement. Dean had been too preoccupied with the health of his subs to play with them much, and Sam was feeling well enough to miss the attention now.

Sam pushed his boxers down and assumed the position, as Cas quietly started a pot of coffee with a knowing smile on his face.

“Mm, just relax for me, sweetheart,” Dean hummed, parting Sam’s cheeks and rubbing a gentle thumb over his hole. “It’s gonna slide right in."

Part of the game was clearly pretending that Sam would have any trouble taking a rectal thermometer, when he routinely took all of Dean’s cock up there.

Sam bit his lip, groaning as Dean lubed his asshole, sliding his finger in and out. “Feels a little warm in here, baby,” Dean murmured, wiggling his finger as Sam groaned. The tip of the thermometer nudged gently against his hole. Dean’s heavy hand landed on his lower back, holding him down. "Deep breath, Sammy. Here we go.”

Sam shivered as the probe slid up into him.

“Mm, shh, sweetheart. I know. Feels funny, huh.” Dean patted Sam’s back as though he was squirming in discomfort. His other thumb teased Sam’s perineum in the guise of rubbing soothingly. “Gotta check my baby’s temperature, though, make sure he’s nice and healthy.”

“You know I'm fine,” Sam grumbled; secretly he kind of loved it when Dean infantilized him like this because it was _so freaking dirty._

"Shshsh," Dean soothed. "Be a good boy for me. Just a little longer." He slid his hands into Sam’s hair, guiding his head down on the table. Sam groaned at the gentle restraint, his cheek pressed against the cool counter. They waited until the probe beeped.

“Okay, that should do it,” said Dean, easing it out. Sam couldn't hold back a whimper at the slithering sensation.

“Well?” he asked, already knowing it was normal.

“Looks like you’re okay for now.” Dean was unrepentant as he cleaned off the thermometer with an alcohol wipe. “But you’re not all the way outta the woods yet. I want you to check your temp, in the ass, every hour I’m gone. Text me the picture. Have Cas help you if you can’t get it.”

“I will be happy to assist you, Sam,” said Cas innocently, putting Dean’s breakfast muffin in a paper bag.

“Great,” said Sam, blowing his hair out of his eyes. Dean pulled his boxers back up for him patted his butt affectionately.

“Now, if you two can behave today, and take it easy, I have a treat for you after work,” Dean promised, waiting for the to-go cup of coffee Cas was pouring for him. “I know you’ve been cooped up at home too long.”

Sam’s ears pricked up, and he could see Cas doing the same. “A treat?”

“I got tickets to the opening of that new display at the history museum. Meso-potatoes or whatever.”

“The Mesopotamian exhibit?” said Cas.

“You want to go to a museum opening?” asked Sam skeptically. Dean tended to be more into football and wings than urns and pottery shards.

“Hey, I know how my babies dig that nerdy stuff,” said Dean. “And even a dummy like me can use a little culture, eh?”

Sam sighed. Although he never talked about it, Dean had a fancy college degree and, before they met, had had successful career in business. He had given that all up to work in a salvage yard like his father but he always acted like Sam and Cas were the smart ones.

“But,” Dean continued, “We’re only going if you follow all the rules today, _and_ I feel like you guys are up for it when I get home tonight.”

"I will be up for it,” said Cas. “That will be wonderful Dean, thank you.”

“Anything to keep my geekboys happy,” said Dean, kissing his cheek. “Okay, I’m out.” He took a sip of the coffee Cas had made for him, nodding his thanks. Like the muffin, and his lunch, it was made fresh every morning; Cas never showed any interest in holding a job like Sam or Dean, seeming perfectly happy just keeping the house clean and cooking all their meals from scratch. “You two be good for me, okay?”

“We will be good, I promise,” said Cas. Sam nodded.

Dean blew them each a kiss and grabbed his jacket, heading out the door. 

\--

The sky was heavy and grey outside, waiting to snow. It was quiet in the house without Dean. Sam fussed over his latest journal article and debated ordering something new for the bedroom. Their poor Dom had been a saint the entire time they were sick, and hadn’t had so much as a handjob in two weeks. Maybe a new set of spreader bars? It was almost Christmas.

He sniffed the air, smelling Cas’ meatloaf (Dean’s favorite) and smiled – clearly they were of the same mind about treating Dean, although it had taken different forms.

Cas poked his head around the corner from the kitchen. “Sam, it’s time to take your temperature.”

Sam rolled his eyes and got down to it, pushing his shorts down and slicking the thermometer. “Did you eat?” He called, easing it into himself and reaching awkwardly back with his cellphone to get a picture of it sinking into his hole. It was hard to hold his cheeks open with one hand and aim the camera with the other, but he managed it without Cas’ help.

“Yes, Dean texted me. I had crackers,” said Cas.

Sam waited the requisite amount of time and then removed the thermometer. 98*, perfectly normal. He took a second picture of the readout and texted both pictures to Dean.

         - **Good boy** , said the return text.

“Dean says we have to nap at noon.” Cas reported, wondering in to watch as Sam wiped himself off and then cleaned the thermometer carefully. “Was your temperature normal?”

“Yup,” said Sam, settling in for another hour. The next two times he remembered without Cas’ reminder – he really wanted to go to the museum that night.

This paper was practically writing itself. He could hear Cas humming ‘what child is this,’ the song drifting in from the kitchen. Sam smiled. Outside, the snow began to fall like powdered sugar.

But the smile fell from his face when he heard the back door open. He glanced at the clock; it was only 3 PM.

“Dean?”

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Cas hurried over to him too. “Did something happen at work?”

“Eh, Garth sent me home,” said Dean.

“Garth? Sent _you_ home?” Garth’s good natured ability to accept Dean’s dominating personality was one of the reasons they’d managed to stay in business together.

“What happened?”

“It’s just a headache.” Dean wiped his nose. “Then I dunno, stood up too fast or something, maybe.”

“You’re feeling light-headed?” Sam deftly evaded Dean’s batting hands to feel his forehead. “You’re warm,” he said, sounding accusing without meaning to.

“I’m fine,” said Dean, pushing him off. He stepped away from the kitchen counter and swayed precipitously. Immediately both of them reached for him, Sam’s hand under his shoulder, Cas gripping his wrist.

“This must be that headache Garth was noticing,” said Sam dryly.

“You’re probably just tired from looking after us,” said Cas, slipping himself under Dean’s arm like a cat looking for attention. Dean hugged him automatically. “You haven’t been getting a lot of sleep lately."

It was true; Sam couldn’t think of any time in the last few weeks when Dean hadn’t been instantly at his side, offering water, cough syrup, soothing words, or a damp rag. Dean had helped him to the bathroom, held his hair when he puked, and read aloud to him from _Harry Potter_ , which was a true sign of devotion.

“Why don’t we huddle up on the couch and watch the game?” Cas suggested, drawing him towards the living room.

“You don’t even know what game is on,” said Dean, but his arm remained around Cas’ shoulder and he reluctantly let himself be led to the couch.

“No, but I like to snuggle,” said Cas calmly. One of Sam’s favorite things about him was that his masculinity was apparently unthreatened, even when he said something like that. “Anyway, I’m suddenly feeling very tired.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean’s whole attitude changed immediately. In a flash he was ushering Cas to sit and snagging the afghan Jodie had made for them last year at Sam’s birthday.

“Sam? Can you make some tea? Just weak tea,” said Cas, accepting the attention.

“I’ll make it for you, Angel,” said Dean, but Cas tugged insistently on Dean’s arm around his shoulder.

“No, we’re snuggling now,” he pouted.

Sam made a mug in the microwave and brought it back to Cas, who was tucked in besides Dean. Dean received the cup, holding it for Cas to sip from. But Sam noticed he was also using it to warm up his own hands.

“He feel hot to you?” said Dean, feeling Cas’ forehead anxiously. “I think he’s warm.”

“You’ve got him swaddled up in blankets, no wonder he’s warm!” Sam dropped a hand down onto Cas’ forehead, who tolerated the touch without complaint. “He feels fine. You’re the one I’m worried about.”

Dean ignored him, snagging Sam to tug him down too. Sam sighed, submitting to having his forehead tested for fever, then kissed when none was found. Dean was always like this when he felt sick, diverting the attention back onto his subs. While Sam was man enough to admit that he liked being babied when he wasn't well (Dean had spoon-fed him soup for three days) he knew Dean wouldn’t accept that himself.

“I think you’re okay,” said Dean, letting him go so he could sit in the reclining chair.

Cas held up his half-full cup of tea. “I don’t want any more,” he said, turning his face into Dean’s chest and nestling down. “You can finish it.”

Sam hid his smile as Dean sipped the cooling liquid slowly. Sneaky Cas was sneaky.

Dean's head began to droop on his chest. "Can't loose track of time," he mumbled, fumbling with his watch to set an alarm. "We’ve got those tickets for tonight."

Sam and Cas exchanged a loaded look: _how do you want to handle this?_

“Do you really think you’re going to be up for that?” asked Sam pointedly.

“Are you kidding? It’s the opening. There’s gonna be little cocktail weenies and highballs and classy shit like you guys are into. I’m not going to miss my babies all dressed up in their pretty penguin suits.”

“Dean, if you're feeling unwell...” Cas murmured.

“I'll be fine," Dean kissed his forehead. "I am fine. I'll take a quick nap and be good as new, okay?”

Sam shook his head. Once Dean made up his mind, there was no sense arguing with him. And it looked like his mind was pretty well made up.

\--

So, after Dean woke up declaring himself completely cured, they showered and dressed for an evening out in the city.

It was rare for the three of them to get the chance to go on a date together. Dean and Sam had lived as a married couple for years before Cas arrived, which could make things awkward in the small college town where they lived and worked. There wasn’t a great explanation they could offer for his presence, and none of them could resist the casual, affectionate touches they were used to in public. Usually Dean took each of them out for romantic evenings individually – Sam close to home, Cas somewhere further afield – or they had to travel somewhere nobody would ask any questions about three men sharing a table at a nice restaurant.

The museum was lit up when they arrived, looking glamorous and mysterious after hours. There were a variety of elegant people ascending the front steps, and Dean pulled around to let them out, insisting on looking for parking himself. It was chilly outside, the snow still drifting down. Dean had turned the heat up twice.

“Be careful walking on the ice,” he warned them.

Sam got out first and offered an arm to Cas, who accepted with a grin. “Okay, you too. See you inside.”

Sam had to admit it was exciting to be out of the house. Dean was right, they’d been trapped inside too long, first by a nasty spell of weather and then by their long illnesses. It felt great to be out at a special event, dressed up and looking fine.

The exhibit itself was all focused on ancient Mesopotamian culture, and Sam found himself particularly interested in the section on cuneiform law. Although he had no background in law – he was a tech geek through and through – he found himself fascinated by the ancient justice system. Cas was more interested in the section on their religion, which seemed complex and mysterious, all the obscure gods and goddesses. Sam fell naturally into conversation with a group of learned men discussing the Mesopotamian number system, and Cas joined in shyly as well.

He saw Dean come in from the parking lot, dangerous and elegant in a black jacket with his shirt open at the collar. Sam licked his lips, but Dean laughingly waived him back to the discussion and went to stand in line at the bar.

“I think it’s most interesting that the system was base-sixty,” Cas was saying thoughtfully, leaning into Sam’s side. He automatically wound his arm around the smaller man's waist and squeezed.

It was funny, thought Sam; there probably wasn’t a person in the museum that doesn’t think he and Cas were a perfectly matched couple (well, maybe a couple of homophobes, but Sam didn’t exactly care what they thought). Two handsome, intelligent men, both thoughtful and serious. But the truth was that, although they were good friends, it was rare for the two of them to be together romantically without Dean also being involved. It was odd when he thought about it; they probably had more in common with each other than either of them did with him. But that was the way it had always been.

Sam patted Cas' hip – Dean was crazy, he wasn’t too thin, he was just perfect – and Cas smiled up at him, keeping apace with the conversation. Soon after, the two of them were lost in a deep discussion of a long-extinct way of life.

Glancing around some time later, Sam realized he didn’t see Dean anywhere. That seemed strange. The last time he'd seen him he'd been deep in conversation with a beautiful woman (Dean loved women, although he had refrained from indulging since he’d met Sam and declared it no sacrifice; that didn’t mean he couldn’t look).

“Do you see Dean?” asked Cas quietly, obviously having picked up on Sam’s anxiety. “I’ve lost sight of him.”

Sam glanced down at his watch (a gift from Dean, of course, with a secret inscription _to my sweetheart_ on the back face) and realized that two hours had passed.

“Stay here, I’ll go look for him,” he said, kissing his temple and realizing a moment later that it was Dean’s gesture. Cas watched him with concern as he walked away.

The museum didn’t have too many rooms open; Sam checked the men’s room and the coat check, swept a glance over the main exhibit, and then noticed one small side gallery. It seemed deserted, but he checked anyway.

The room was dimly lit, but there was one person inside. Dean was sitting on a bench under a clay relief sculpture of a man being eaten alive by a lioness. Sam glanced at the image and shuddered; the man was on his back, his head tilted, the animal’s massive paw drawing him close as it leant in to savage his neck.

Dean was leaning forward with his head in his hands. It took Sam a moment to realize he was asleep.

“Dean?” He crossed the room and knelt down by the bench. “Dean, wake up. It’s me.”

Dean stirred. “Hey Sammy, you having a good time baby?” His voice sounded rough.

Sam had a sudden guilty memory of himself, when the fever was the worst, sprawled over Dean’s lap like The Pieta, while Dean cooed and rubbed his chest and spoon-fed him ice chips.

And they’d ignored Dean for hours in a drafty museum.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you alone so long,” he said humbly.

“S’all good,” said Dean muzzily. “Glad you’re having a nice time. I wanted you to. Although if you ask me, these Potatoans are a snoozefest.” He looked up at the sculpture and shivered. "Why would anyone want to make an exhibit about this stuff?"

“Dean, these people may have invented the written word,” scolded Sam automatically.

“S’all just French fries to me, Sammy,” said Dean, letting his head drop down to rest on Sam’s chest and nuzzling slightly there.

“Jeez, Dean, you feel really warm,” said Sam, lifting a hand to stroke his hair.

“Dean!” It was Cas, appearing from nowhere as usual, pressing anxiously against Dean’s side.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[ ](http://scribblyscratch.tumblr.com/post/104884303791/andddd-tfwbigbang-part-deux-in-a-complete)

**__[Art by](http://scribblyscratch.tumblr.com/post/104884303791/andddd-tfwbigbang-part-deux-in-a-complete) [Paxdracona](../../../../users/Paxdracona/pseuds/Paxdracona)_ _ **

[Link: [Image of the Nimrud ivory](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nimrud_ivories#mediaviewer/File:Nimrud_ivory_lion_eating_a_man.jpg)]

 

Dean patted his knee affectionately. “It’s okay, just got a little tired, all of a sudden,” he said. “Are you guys going to be ready to hit the road soon?

“I’m ready to go now,” said Sam, eager to get Dean home and into bed. “Are you ready, Cas?”

“Yes, I believe so. This was a very pleasant evening, Dean, thank you.” Cas was obviously playing along, pretending there was nothing wrong.

“Like to let my boys get their geek on,” Dean muttered, passing a hand over his eyes.

“Cas, go get the car,” said Sam, fishing out Dean’s keys. “Wait, I’ll go, you stay with him.”

“You’re not feverish, right?” asked Dean muzzily, accepting the substitution of Cas’ shoulder to lean on in place of Sam’s. “Cas, check if he’s got a fever.”

Obediently, Cas reached a hand towards Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes but obediently hunched down so Cas could reach.

Cas pressed the back of his hand to Sam’s forehead, thoughtfully, then to his cheeks. Then he touched Sam’s neck for comparison. “He is not warm,” he pronounced.

“I’m _fine,_ ” Sam promised. “Just – bring him out to the front in a minute, okay?”

Cas nodded, distracted by Dean’s face sliding into the hollow of his neck and nestling there. Still, by the time Sam got the car back from valet and pulled around up front, Cas and Dean were sitting on the steps waiting. The earlier light dusting of snow had increased now to a steady flurry, whirling wildly around them.

“Sam, you good to drive home?” asked Dean faintly.

Sam swallowed. He almost never drove, especially in bad weather; Dean took care of that. “Sure,” he said, pretending it was completely normal. Fortunately neither of them was allowed to drink alcohol without Dean’s permission, which hadn’t been granted since Dean worried they still weren’t sufficiently hydrated.

“Awesome.” Dean walked unsteadily around to the passenger side.

Sam and Cas exchanged another anxious glance, and then Cas scurried around behind him to help him haul himself into the passenger seat. Sam clutched the keys.

Dean drove a 2014 Chevrolet impala, a sensible black four-door sedan that he’d picked for the great gas mileage. It came with four wheel drive standard, which was good given the current driving conditions.

The ride home was silent except for Dean’s congested wheezing. Sam tried to keep his eyes on the road, knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so hard; every time the car slipped even a little, he held his breath. He didn’t trust himself not to get them slammed by a semi.

Dean draped a hot hand over the back of Sam’s neck and squeezed. “Easy, baby,” he said, his voice scratchy. “Just focus on the feel of the tires on the road. She’ll take care of us. You got this.”

They made it home in one piece. As soon as they pulled up in the driveway, Dean climbed out of the car and through the front door on unsteady legs.

“M’sleeping in Cas’ room tonight,” Dean slurred. Although the spare room belonged nominally to Cas, he usually slept curled up with Dean and Sam, and it had become a haven for any of them when they needed some private time. The unofficial rule was that anybody in the spare room was not to be disturbed by the other two.

“Dean, c’mon,” said Sam.

“You two are still recovering, and you need your sleep,” said Dean firmly. “If I need something, I’ll holler.”

The door slammed pointedly shut, and Sam and Cas were left outside.

“We’re not really going to let him sleep in there, are we?” asked Cas.

Sam scowled at the closed door. “Do you want to try and go in?”

Cas didn’t bother answering. Dean was legendarily stubborn.

They undressed silently and curled into bed together. They didn’t fit like this, thought Sam, without Dean between them. Cas’ head was too heavy on Sam’s chest, and Sam missed Dean’s arm like an anchor around his waist.

“He’ll be fine,” Cas whispered, sensing Sam’s concern.

“I know,” said Sam.

“It’s hard for Dean to let us help him. He wants to be strong for us.”

“I know.” Sam felt his eyes watering. “But we’re his partners. What’s the point of being in a relationship if we can’t help each other?”

Cas kissed his shoulder, and didn’t answer.

\--

   
Sam woke the next morning to an empty bed.

The house filled with the delicate smell of oregano: Cas must have put yesterday's meatloaf in the fridge and made garlic chicken broth, which Dean preferred when he was under the weather.

When he got downstairs, Dean was curled up on the couch in front of the history channel. “Look, Sammy, they’re showing a special about the Roman legion,” he said. He had wrapped one of Charlie’s quilts around his shoulders like a cape, Sam noticed, and although he always claimed he was ‘too manly’ for slippers, he was wearing wool socks inside the house.

On screen, a handsome centurion was mounting a horse.

“Good morning Sam,” said Cas, coming in from the kitchen with a cup of tea.

"Morning, Cas. Dean, how’d you sleep?”

“Mm, okay.” Dean was still staring at the screen, but he accepted the cup of tea without complaint. Sam shot a raised-eyebrows look at Cas behind Dean’s back.

"Really? You slept 'Okay?' I didn't hear you running for the bathroom last night?"

"Nope." Dean slurped his tea noisily and sighed in pleasure. "Wasn't you, was it angel?"

"No Dean," said Cas dutifully.

"Hmm, mystery," said Dean. Sam rolled his eyes. On screen, Caesar's army seemed to have reached a détente. Dean was pretending to be completely absorbed. But over the next ten minutes, he sank slowly deeper and deeper into the couch, his eyes drifting to half mast. Sam and Cas both watched him, pretending not to. A few minutes later, he started snoring softly.

Sam reached to rescue the mug of tea from his lax hands, then paused, catching a sniff. “Is that _booze?”_ he whispered incredulously. “Cas, he’s _sick!”_

Dean stirred, and they both froze until he settled.

“At least he’s resting now,” Cas defended himself quietly. “It's a hot toddy, a traditional drink for the unwell. Anyway, he liked it.”

“Of course he liked it, he likes everything that’s bad for him,” Sam grumbled.

“I offered him toast and citrus first. This was the only thing he would willingly consume,” said Cas, with dignity.

“That’s great, Cas, that’s just great,” said Sam, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you just give him everything he wants?”

“I will,” said Cas with dignity. “He's my Dom - that's my duty.”

“Yeah well that's not exactly _helpful_ , is it?” hissed Sam.

“Yes, your attempts to order him about are clearly more effective,” said Cas acidly. “Well done.”

Dean stirred again, a frown crossing his face, reaching out for one of them.

“I think I’m going to finish my paper in the other room,” said Sam, evading his grabby hands and inadvertently waking him further.

“ _Samuel_ ,” said Cas, voice like the crack of a whip, and Sam froze.

He forgot, sometimes, that Cas had been a Dom before. It was hard to put that knowledge together with the man that Sam knew, who was so willing, so thankful to be controlled. Sometimes Dean even let Sam top Cas, gently, the way they both liked. But somewhere inside him was still this raw power.

“Okay, cut it out, you two,” said Dean, sitting up slowly. “Sam, corner. Cas, there’s a load of dishes in the sink. Go do them.”

Both of them scowled but knew better than to argue with Dean, even when he wasn’t 100%. On screen, Roman warriors were crossing the alps with Elephants, looking cold and miserable.

Sam could relate.

He stripped off his pajamas (corner time had to be served naked) and put his nose to the white paint with the pants around his ankles.

“Start,” said Dean, turning over the egg timer he kept on the side table for just this purpose. It was for three minutes.

Sam hated that egg timer.

There was silence except for the grating sound of Dean clearing his throat, or coughing softly under his breath. Dean had muted his show so it wouldn’t distract Sam from Thinking About What He’d Done. Sam wanted to fidget, but he was too well trained for that. He wanted to ask Dean if he wanted some water, or a sore throat lozenge, or a blow job. But there was no talking during corner time.

“Time,” said Dean at last. “Sam, can you go fetch me some tissues, please?”

“Yes Dean!” said Sam eagerly, hopping across the room while he pulled his pants up, hurrying to the hall closet. “Here.” He scurried back down with the box, setting it within easy reach.

“Knees, Sammy,” said Dean.

Sam dropped obediently in front of him, hands behind his back, head down.

“Now,” said Dean. He lifted a hand to stroke Sam’s hair, which was long enough now to wear in a low ponytail. “You wanna tell me the problem?”

“You won’t let us _help!”_ Sam erupted immediately. “All we want to do is cater to you when you’re sick, but you’re pushing us away, and it’s making us fight because we don’t know how to fix it!”

“Aw, Sammy,” said Dean. “C’mere,” he tugged Sam forward until his head was on Dean’s lap, buried in the soft cotton of his pajama bottoms. “I’m a lousy patient, I know that, sweetheart. But it’s not your job to cater to me.”

“But I _want to!”_ said Sam. “And Cas does too, I know he does. You took such good care of us when we were sick, and we just want to return the favor.”

“Shh,” soothed Dean. Sam could hear the gravel in his throat, making his words even lower and rougher than usual. “You return the favor by being my good boy, and by doing what I ask. And what I’m asking now is that you take care of yourself, so that you don’t get sick again.”

“I won’t,” said Sam, blinking back tears. It was automatic for him to relax and turn pliant when Dean was touching him and paying attention to him, and it was hard to argue with his Dom. It felt like reversing the proper order of things. “I’m fine, Dean, really. I promise. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you,” said Dean lovingly, “because you’re my baby and that’s my job. Now, I want you to sit here quietly while we watch for someone to eat someone, because I’ve been waiting for an hour now and no dice yet.”

“Wrong Hannibal,” said Sam, with a watery smile.

“Oh. Are they going to eat the elephants, at least?”

“I don’t think so.”

Dean switched off the TV. “Alright, well, that was a waste of time. Cas, how’d it go with those dishes?”

“They are finished.” Cas had a habit of appearing almost magically when summoned, standing now with a dishtowel over his shoulder and an anxious look on his face that he was trying to conceal. “Are there any other tasks you require of me?”

“Yeah, I’d like you to c’mere and cuddle with Sammy and me. Does that sound like something you can handle?”

“Yes Dean.” Cas clambered over Sam, who yelped at a nudge his kidneys and subsided with a whine when Dean slipped a hand down his pants, cradling his butt, and patted it soothingly. Cas ended up sprawled half on top of Sam, his head tucked between Sam’s shoulder and the back of his couch, watching Dean with anxious blue eyes. Dean leaned forward to gently kiss his forehead.

“So Sammy says I’m being an ass and upsetting everybody,” Dean rumbled, wincing at what was doubtless a sharp pain in his throat and swallowing roughly.

“Hush,” Cas murmured, nudging his nose against Dean’s chin. "Just try to rest." He burrowed in to Dean's side, leaving room for Sam – he always left room for Sam. Sam wasn’t tired yet, but he settled contentedly against Dean, careful not to put pressure on his lungs, and watched the snow fall thicker out the window.

For a while they were peaceful, lying quietly together. It was getting dark outside – always so early in the winter, before they even thought of dinner – but they had nothing pressing to get to and nowhere to be. Outside, the snow was turning into sleet, but they were safe and warm inside. Dean had replaced all the insulation when they’d first moved, and resealed all the windows (although he insisted that the big bay window still had a draft).

Dean stirred. “Bad weather means more towing,” he grumbled.

Cas rubbed his chest soothingly. “Garth will be grateful for the opportunity to prove himself,” he murmured. “You said you wanted to let him start taking on more responsibility at the shop.”

“Wanted to put up the Christmas lights,” Dean pouted, resting his head on the pillow Cas plumped for him.

“We’ll do it next weekend,” said Cas. “There’s still time.”

“But you two are just recovering. I wanted to spoil you.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve spoiled us for two weeks,” said Sam. “Maybe you’d like to let us spoil you for a little while, hmm?” He leaned forward to kiss Dean’s neck, nuzzling into the place where he was salty and warm. “You don’t have to do anything, we’ll – we’ll bring you blankets, soup, we’ll give you a nice bath, does that sound good? A warm soak in the tub, maybe some bath oils, maybe some candles?”

Dean made a face. “You’re the chick here, Sammy, not me.” He raised one too-warm hand to slide through Sam’s hair and scritched his scalp like a beloved family pet. Sam might have protested, except that it felt really freaking good.

“I’m sorry, Dean – this is all my fault,” said Cas quietly. “I made Christmas cookies before I knew I was sick. I probably infected you.”

“Hey,” said Dean, kissing his temple gently. “It wasn’t Charlie’s fault that you caught it from her, and it’s not your fault that I caught it from one of you. Okay? You’re not mad at Charlie, are you?”

Cas shook his head no. “But I – I never want to hurt you,” he said, his eyes full of tears. “Never ever.”

“Shh, Angel. You don’t, you know you don't,” said Dean, tugging him in for a tighter hug.

"Please Dean, let us do something to make you feel better,” Cas whispered. "Tell us how you want us to serve you.”

Dean paused to cough, and Cas sat up hurriedly to offer him a glass of water from the side table. “No booze,” he promised Sam while Dean sipped and swallowed.

Dean sighed when he was done. “I guess even the most beneficent ruler had his personal body slaves,” he mused, eyes on the now-blank television screen. “I bet the Caesars had pretty boys serving them.”

“The _puer delicatus_ ,” said Cas at once, nodding. “Although they were pre-pubescent.”

“Yeah, well you two are my legal little _poor cactuses_ ,” said Dean, kissing the notch of Cas’ collarbone. “Would you like that?”

“Very much,” Cas confirmed, apparently content enough that he didn’t even bother correcting Dean’s pronunciation.

“Mm, hot,” Dean whispered. “I like you legal.”

“That is a relief to hear,” said Cas, predictably matter of fact. He leaned in for a kiss, but Dean pushed him back by the shoulders.

“Ah-ah,” said Dean, panting a little with exertion.

“Don’t want – to get the two of you – sick again.”

“Dean, we’re immune now,” Cas assured him gently.

“You don’t know that. No kissing until the period of contagion is passed,” Dean insisted. “You’ll have to kiss Sammy instead.”

Cas raised his eyes inquiringly at Sam, stretching to offer his lips to the man below him. Sam accepted a gentle kiss, no tongue, just a soft press of lips.

“Mm, my pretty boys,” Dean hummed, stroking the back of Sam’s neck. “Again.”

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” asked Sam skeptically.

“M’sick, not dead.”

Sam shifted partially off of Dean – he was worried about his breathing, anyway – and leaned in to kiss Cas sloppily, making a show of it for Dean, sliding his tongue into Cas’ obediently open mouth.

“Good boys,” said Dean, stroking Sam’s cheek. He took up a fistful of Sam’s hair and used it to pull his head back, keeping their mouths from meeting.

Sam whined. He loved having his hair played with, or tugged on, which Dean knew well (why else would he grow it out so long?). He let Dean steer his head back to Cas' but Dean didn’t let go of him, not letting him angle his face so they could fit together properly. His nose was pushed up against Cas’ and it was uncomfortable, although he could feel the smile creasing Cas’ face. Cas loved it most of all when Dean was playful.

“Dean,” Sam complained, muffled on Cas’ mouth.

“You two are just so pretty together,” Dean hummed, stroking both of their hair before he let them go. Neither one of them withdrew even after they were released; Cas just tipped his head so they slotted together, and then they kissed lavishly for a few minutes while Dean not so subtly slid his hand down his pants.

“What does my handsome Caesar ask of his slaves?” Cas purred, when their lips broke apart. “Tell us what you want.”

“Sammy, you wanted to take care of me, don’t you?” asked Dean, innocently. “That's your whole deal, you’re mad `cuz I won’t let you do more for me, right?”

Sam rolled his eyes - Dean was so _transparent_ \- but he played along anyway. “That’s right, Dean. I just wanna make you happy,” he said mildly.

“Well I just thought of something special you could do, that would make me very happy,” said Dean. He patted his lap, raising a suggestive eyebrow. “Eh? Eh?”

“Dean, you’re sick,” said Sam, crawling over to him anyway.

“Oh I'm healthy enough for this, trust me."

“I mean 'sick' like 'dirty-minded and disgusting' … you’re like a lecherous old man.”

"Except young and hot, though, right?" Dean shucked his pajama pants and arranged himself on his back. “Mm, let’s get your mouth filled up,” he said, taking firm hold of the back of Sam’s neck.

Sam was expecting to be pulled down to Dean's cock, but instead Dean lifted his hips and pushed Sam's head lower, directing Sam’s face where he wanted it. Sam moved obediently, nuzzling into the secret place between Dean’s cheeks. There was no part of Dean’s body that he didn’t love to worship.

“Mm, Sammy, that’s it, baby, lick my asshole,” said Dean, lifting a sock-covered foot to hook over Sam's shoulder. “Make me feel good.”

Sam moaned his approval, fitting his mouth around Dean’s hole like he was making out with it. On his belly like this, the angle was awkward, but that only added to the appeal; Sam thrilled with the knowledge that with Dean's limbs wreathed around him, he couldn’t pull away if he wanted to. Dean could hold him here grinding against his face for hours, and Sam would just have to take it.

“Lift that little bottom up in the air for me." Sam did as instructed, shifting around to try and keep his mouth in that warm, hidden space while still offering up his ass.

"How's it look, Cas? Nice and tight?"

Sam had to keep slurping as he was inspected, moaning his approval.

"Yes," came Cas’ gravelly response. "It looks very inviting. Did you know that in Ancient Rome, men were said to "take it like a woman," _muliebria pati_ , when they were penetrated anally?”

Cas was a font of obscure information.

“Oh yeah?” Dean indulged him. “Do me a favor and give Sam a spank, would you? I don’t want to exert myself, you know.”

Sam got no more warning before a flat palm landed on his buttocks, barely cushioned by the seat of his flannel pajama pants. Cas had small hands, but he could really wallop with them when he wanted to. The force of it pushed Sam’s face deeper into Dean’s perineum, who sighed pleasurably and ground back against him.

"Get your tongue up there,” Dean ordered. “Fill me up, sweetheart. And Cas, you wanna suck my cock?”

“Yes Dean, I would like that.”

Sam couldn’t see what was happening, trapped as he was with his head between Dean’s thighs, but he could well imagine when Cas’ weight settled over his back.

“There was a specific term for those who provided oral sex in Ancient Rome,” said Cas thoughtfully. “ _Os impurum_ , ‘filthy mouth.’”

Sam snorted. Cas was such a little weirdo.

"No, no, hands behind your back,” he heard Dean say. “Good boy, let me feed it to you. Open."

Sam felt his own cock twitch from just the wet, lush sounds coming from above him.

"That’s right, swallow it all the way down. Sam _in_ ,” said Dean impatiently, tugging on Sam’s hair. “I know you’ve got a tongue like a frog when you want to.”

Obediently Sam rolled over onto his back, guiding Dean to sit over his mouth, so his angle was better. Cas straddled his hips and Sam felt pleasantly pinned down, smothered. He hollowed his tongue and pushed in, listening to the small, cutoff sounds of Cas choking himself on Dean’s dick.

“Does it feel hot? Hotter than usual?” asked Dean, apparently to Cas.

“Yes, it feels warm,” said Cas, “I like it.”

“S’good. Feels good,” said Dean. “Thanks Cas. I’ll get you back when I can breathe through my nose.”

“Hush. Just lie there and let us make you feel good,” said Cas serenely.

“Stroke yourselves,” Dean requested. Sam was guessing he had one hand behind his head, just relaxing, giving orders. “Make yourselves come for me.”

Sam obediently reached down, shoving one hand in his pants. Cas ground down against him at the same minute Dean did and Sam moaned. He was so close! Dean pushed up as he came down Cas’ throat, pulling away from Sam’s mouth, and Sam whimpered helplessly and smacked his lips around nothing as he came in his own hand. He felt Cas rut against his stomach, then the hot seed spurted across Sam's abs.

For a moment there was nothing but panting as they all came down.

"Mmm," Dean sighed, reaching down to pet Cas’ hair. “As soon as I’m better, first thing I'm gonna do is fuck you and Sammy properly. Wish I had two dicks so I could do you at the same time.”

“I would still want both of them,” said Cas, drawing back.

"I know you would, Angel." Dean was amusing himself by scrunching Cas’ hair in his hands. He closed his eyes, his legs still blatantly spread. “M’falling asleep.”

“Good,” Cas whispered. He sat up to tuck the quilt around him, stroking his forehead. Dean hummed.

Sam sat up cautiously, wiping his chin. "How hot is he?"

"Not too bad," said Cas, still feeling for Dean’s temperature. “I think it’s a mild case.”

“Strong constitution,” Dean croaked, smiling crookedly.

“Are you sure?” asked Sam anxiously.

“He’s not as hot as we were, at this stage,” said Cas.

Dean turned to kiss Cas' knuckles, which were next to his cheek. “Nobody’s as hot as my babies,” he said.

“You know we’re only indulging your cheesy lines because you’re sick,” said Sam, sliding closer.

“You love my cheesy lines,” Dean accused. It was true. Sam loved just about every cheesy, over the top thing about Dean.

Dean fell asleep with his head resting on Cas’. Sam crept to kneel next to the couch at his side, examining his face. Dean looked exhausted. He wasn't as young as he used to be, Sam realized; his hair was going grey at the temples, just barely visible between the blond strands. Asleep, his unguarded face was pale and drawn.

“He usually shakes this stuff right off,” Sam whispered. "I've never seen him like this." 

“He’s been working too hard, trying to take care of both of us,” said Cas quietly.

“Maybe we should call the doctor, just to be sure?"

“It’s the flu, Sam. We both had it. There’s not much a doctor can do, and the trip would be unpleasant for him." Cas was calm as a rock, stroking Dean’s hand which was holding on to his. "It will be alright, as long as we can keep him hydrated. We’ll take good care of him."

“I can carry him to bed,” said Sam, cracking his back in preparation; Dean was shorter than him, but heavy with muscle. “He’d be more comfortable there.”

“I think he would prefer to walk there himself, when he wakes up,” said Cas diplomatically.

He was right, but it didn’t make Sam feel better.

Dean was so good at this, thought Sam. The entire time Sam was sick, Dean had been there, unobtrusive when he didn’t want help, forceful when he’d needed to be babied. Dean had anticipated all of his needs – there was never anything Sam wanted that wasn’t already being offered to him. He just didn't know how to return the favor.

They were pulled out of a daze by the jarring ring of Dean’s cell phone, which blared ‘smoke on the water.’

“Mphf,” said Dean, struggling to sit up with the weight of Cas, cat-like, on his chest and refusing to move.

“Leave it, Dean,” Sam ordered, reaching to shut it off.

“Could be important.” Dean rubbed his face, looking worn. He was obviously feeling worse – probably already had a headache, Sam thought, remembering his own days of dark rooms, Dean laying a cool cloth over his eyes like an icy blindfold.

“Dean …”

“Hand it to me, Sam,” Dean ordered. It sounded like he’d been gargling with broken glass. Cas sat up silently, observing; Sam huffed and handed over the phone.

“Yello?”

Dean listened to a tinny voice on the other end, while Sam tried to guess who it could be. Benny? He called sometimes when he wanted a drink or a game of darts. Charlie hadn’t been over lately since she’d been sick herself.

“Aw, crap,” said Dean, with feeling. “I mean, obviously we can try to get it done – ”

“Give me the phone,” said Sam. Dean waved him off.

“No no, just a little under the weather, I’m not dying,” said Dean. “Both the boys had it already, it’s nothing to worry about.” Although of course Sam knew Dean had spent a week worrying and fussing over them.

“Dean, do not commit to doing anything until you’re feeling better,” Sam warned. “Are you listening to me?”

“Lemme talk to Garth,” said Dean.

So it was work, then. _Smith’s Towing and Salvage_ was no doubt operating at 110% capacity in this weather, but Sam couldn’t see what kind of towing emergency could warrant calling Dean at home when he was sick.

“No no buddy, it’s fine,” Dean was saying soothingly. He sounded like crap on a stick. Sam hoped Garth wasn’t buying it. “We can do it. Yes, I’m on my way. Fine. I’ll call you when it’s done.” Dean hung up.

“Dean,” said Sam seriously. “If you have agreed to anything more strenuous than going upstairs to bed, I’m going to kill you.”

“No rest for the wicked, Sammy,” said Dean with a pale smirk. His free hand, having set down the phone, ghosted over Cas’ cheek he eased himself away from the couch cushions. “It’s an emergency.”

“You’re not leaving the house,” said Sam definitively. “Do you hear me? It’s not happening.”

Dean heaved himself up out of the couch, wavering on his feet until he reached out to clasp Cas’ shoulder. With his other hand, he motioned imperiously for Sam. Sam huffed – further evidence that Dean was fit for nothing but an early bed – but couldn’t let his Dom go unanswered. He leaned in close enough for Dean to wrap an anchoring arm around his waist.

“The weather has everybody scrambling,” said Dean. “There’s a nasty wreck off of I-455 that’s got all the trucks, and someone just called in a spinoff nobody can take. That same overpass on Fountain Road that always ices over sooner than anything else. We gotta go, Sammy.”

“No, you’re not going anywhere,” insisted Sam, “And you’re definitely not going out in the cold and the sleet to haul busted up cars around.”

“We’ve got to go pick people up,” said Dean stubbornly, “It’s a family, Sam, single mom and a bunch of little kids. We can’t leave them, it's below zero out there. Garth says the wrecker’s an hour out at least, on that pileup. He’s slammed. We’ll take the truck – they’re driving a fiat, we can haul it behind us and take them back to the shop.”

“Dean, are you insane?”

“Little kids, Sammy, trapped out in the storm.” Dean leaned over to cough vigorously, hocking up something truly disgusting. He wasn’t doing his argument any favors. “It’s just down the road from here. You wanna call them and tell them we ain’t coming because I got the sniffles?”

“Dean, this is unwise,” said Cas reluctantly. “Of course we want to assist this family, but not at the expense of your health.”

“That’s why you’re coming with me,” said Dean, grinning weakly. “Are you my poor cactus minions, or aren’t you? I’ll stay nice and warm in the car. The whole thing won’t take more than an hour, and after that I’ll let you boss me around like a good little patient.”

It was just like Dean, thought Sam, shaking his head; he bargained, not for himself, but for others.

“I’m against this idea,” said Sam firmly. “You’re not the only tow truck driver in the world, and you’re not the only person that can help these people."

“I don’t think those Roman slave boys got to make decisions for the Caesars, Sammy,” warned Dean, stretching cautiously and making a face at the evident pain in his joints.

“Dean …”

“You said you wanted to help me when I needed it,” said Dean, wheezing audibly. “This is when I need it … we need to help these people, and I need your help to do it.”

Sam looked at his earnest face, holding his eyes, and let out a deep breath. After a moment he nodded reluctantly. "But you wear ALL the snow gear, no arguing, and you stay in the car, right? That’s a promise.”

“Here, Dean.” Cas ran to the closet and fetched Dean’s heavy snow pants and his winter boots. He knelt and helped Dean step into the insulating fabric. Dean allowed it solemnly, like a king at his coronation.

Soon all three were bundled up, with Dean also dressed in rain-protective heavy coat, and all three of them in sturdy waterproof gloves and wool caps (Dean insisted they all be prepared for the worst blizzards every year).

“I’m still worried you’re going to be cold,” fussed Cas, wrapping a warm cashmere scarf around Dean’s neck. It was faded blue the exact color of Cas’ eyes – Dean had picked it out especially.

“I’m more bundled up than a snowman,” Dean pointed out. “I look like the stay-puff marshmallow man from Ghostbusters, and you two are going to be doing all the work.”

Sam grabbed vapor rub, two heating pads, a box of tissues, and a to-go cup of the honey-lemon tea Cas had quickly made up. Dean dry-swallowed two Advil and wiped his mouth. “Time’s wasting, kids, let’s go.” It had been less than ten minutes since they’d gotten the call.

Cas insisted on taking Dean’s arm while they walked down the driveway to Dean’s truck. Sam had rolled his eyes when Dean had picked out the well-used heavy-duty 4x4 last year, accusing him of overcompensating. But Sam had to admit there were times when the heavy duty truck was practical in the often terrible Kansas winters, and Dean often used it to haul scrap for work.

As soon as they stepped outside, Dean started coughing. The air was cold and stinging, even on Sam’s newly recovering lungs. But Dean pushed grimly forward, making for the truck. Cas and Sam exchanged helpless looks but tried as best they could to keep up with him.

Dean climbed unassisted into the passenger seat and sat back, panting. Sam watched him anxiously as he started the car, turning up the heat immediately and directing it at Dean. Cas climbed into bench back seat and leant forward between the seat to watch. “Sam, the sooner we leave, the sooner we can return,” he reminded gently.

Sam cursed and reversed down the driveway. There was already almost a foot of frozen snow piled up. They should have shoveled, but none of them had planned to go anywhere. The truck wasn’t bothered, easily clearing the pile at the bottom of the drive.

“Take Fort Henry Road,” said Dean roughly. “It’s more likely to be cleared.”

Sam nodded – he knew the roads as well as Dean did – but didn’t comment. He was watching Dean panting unevenly, still trying to adjust to the cold, dry air outside. This was a terrible idea. They shouldn’t be doing this. But Dean could never resist helping the helpless. Saving people, towing things; the family business. Sam rolled his eyes and focused on the road through the dim window, wishing the defrost would work faster.

“Left,” Dean croaked. “Then right at the intersection.”

“He knows, Dean,” Cas assured him, reaching forward to stroke Dean’s arm. “Sam will get us there with all possible expediency, and safely.”

Dean caught Cas’ fingers and tugged off his mitten, lacing their fingers together.

“His pulse is fast,” Cas noted aloud.

Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t pull his hand away. “Drive, Sam,” he ordered.

Sam peered out between his headlights as they hurried over the bumpy, icy road. The truck was solid and didn’t seem at all bothered by the slick streets, but Sam hated every second of the drive; he just wanted to get this done as quickly as possible, so they could go home and drink hot chocolate in front of the fireplace.

“Okay, ease off the gas,” said Dean, some minutes later. He’d been so quiet Sam had thought he might have fallen asleep, but he should have known he’d have no such luck. “Should be up ahead on the left somewhere – turn on the high beams, and the lights.”

Sam turned on the beams, but Dean had to reach forward and show him the switch to the right of the steering wheel that turned on the yellow blinkers on top of the cab.

“There,” said Cas, pointing through the drifting snow.

It had been a bad skid, alright. The little car – a grey fiat, almost blending in with the heavy sleet – it must have hit a bad patch of ice and swerved wildly, ending up lodged deeply in the ditch on the side of the road.

“I’ve told the county a million times that they need to put up guiderails here,” Dean grunted. “That slope’s too steep. If you go over, you can’t get out.”

It looked like the fiat had tried – there were deep ruts around all the wheels, as the driver had tried without success to rock the car up and out of the crevasse. It looked like they had left the engine running to keep the lights and no doubt the interior heat on.

He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be trapped out here with kids, watching the gas tank gauge slowly tick down.

He was ashamed of discouraging Dean to come. Dean would always try to help people – that’s who he was. Sam shook his head, leaning over to kiss Dean’s sweaty cheek as he pulled the truck up to park behind the fiat, blinkers flashing.

“In front, Sammy,” Dean grunted. “Gonna have to tow it out of there first. Put out the flares so anyone coming will see you a mile out. Don’t take any chances in this weather.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed.

“Cas, you be the one to go down and talk to them. They’ll be frightened of Gigantor here." Dean reached for the cup of tea and look a long drag. His voice sounded wrecked. “Be careful on the hill, it’s steep. Take the flashlight. First thing you do, ask them if it’s possible anyone’s hurt. Sometimes people don’t notice right away, especially if there’s little kids. If anyone might have bumped their heads or something, hold tight, we’ll call an ambulance - here’s your phone. Keep it brisk and friendly, not too personal; they’ve had a scare, they’re emotional.”

Sam wouldn’t have thought of that, how frightening it might be for a stranded family to be approached by a stranger.

“Yes Dean,” Cas nodded.

“C’mere.” Dean untwisted the scarf around his own neck and awkwardly bundled Cas into it, his hands unsteady. “You’re the one needs it.”

Cas kissed his cheek and ducked out of the car. Both Sam and Dean hissed at the icy blast, and Dean started coughing again. They watched in the mirror as Cas skidded carefully down the hill, his big boots finding traction, and tapped politely on the window.

“No offense, Sammy,” said Dean. “You’re just so huge, I’m afraid they’d think it was an abominable snowman.”

“Ha ha,” said Sam mildly. “Save your voice, please.” He clambered out into the snow to set the flares, although the roads were deserted. They were satisfyingly bright as he rested them carefully in their stands, and the blinking yellow flashers of the truck made it so nobody could miss them.

Meanwhile Cas struggled back up the hill and dashed over to the cab window, which Dean rolled down for him before Sam could stop him. Cas’ cheeks and nose were pink, the rest of his face swathed in the scarf, the knit cap pulled low over his ears. His nose was running, and Dean took his glove off, reached for a tissue, and wiped it for him, which Cas allowed without complaint.

“It is a woman and two small children,” said Cas. “I’m afraid they will have trouble getting up the hill unassisted.”

“Sam, you go,” ordered Dean. “They can sit up here in the cab while we hook up the car and pull it out with the winch. Then we’ll get `er towed and all head back to the shop. Shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. Put on the heavy gloves.”

Sam and Cas moved obediently, like well trained soldiers with their orders.

Dean had insisted that both his subs learn the essentials of car ownership, like how to check the oil or the tire pressure, or change a flat tire, even though he hardly ever let either of them drive. But this was the first time they'd ridden along with him on a tow run.

Dean called him on his cell phone and talked him through setting up the winch in the back of the truck, and letting out enough slack. Then Sam waded unsteadily down the hillside after Cas, who was already around at the passenger side door. When he got to the bottom he called back and let Dean talk him through clamping the winch. “Just hook the end to the frame of the car,” said Dean’s soothing, steady voice, even rough as it was from coughing. “Do you see the bar?”

“I see it,” said Sam. “I’ve got the hook attached.”

“Give it a good tug,” Dean advised. “Last thing you need is to have it pop off half way up the hill.”

Sam tugged as hard as he could, surprised by the weakness and heaviness he felt in his own limbs. Dean was right; he was barely back on his feet himself. Time to wrap it up.

“Okay, as long as it’s clamped on good, that’s the hard part done,” said Dean cheerfully. “Help the passengers up the slope and get `em situated, make sure they’re clear before we start winching.”

Cas was already assisting a thin, frail looking young woman out of the front seat. Her hands were shaking and she was pale with shock. It was obviously clear to her, if not the children, how close they had all come to losing their lives.

“We’re driving up to meet my husband in St Clair,” she was telling Cas, who was helping her get her balance in the knee-high snow. “His folks live up there, we’re going up for the Christmas holidays.”

“We have a phone, you can call him from the top of the hill,” said Cas soothingly. “Tell him he can pick you up at _Smith’s Towing_ in the morning. There’s plenty of hotels around here, you and the kids can spend the night in town.”

“The weather didn’t seem so bad when we set out. They said it wouldn’t be too bad.” The woman unbuckled the baby in the backseat, who seemed to be asleep, and picked it up.

“Can you carry him up the hill?” asked Sam. “It’s steep, and slippery. Hello Ma’am, I’m Sam Wesson.”

“I can help you,” said Cas.

“I can carry him,” she said certainly. “But his brother Eddie – he’s only four … ”

“I’ll get him,” Sam volunteered. “Can you get him out?”

The woman coaxed the older child out of the car. He wasn’t dressed for the weather in his pajamas, but his mother had obviously wrapped him in his coat. He looked around at the snow, startled and awed.

“Here you go,” said Cas, pulling off his own hat and scarf to offer them to the boy. Sam knew Dean was going to have a fit.

“Hey buddy,” said Sam amiably, leaning over. He liked kids okay, but knew they were often intimidated by him. “How about I give you a lift up this big hill, huh?”

The boy lifted his arms readily, and Sam scooped him up. The hill looked imposing from the bottom. Cas and the mother started forward, his hand on her elbow, both her arms wrapped around the baby.

“Stand a little behind her, Cas, in case she slips,” suggested Sam. _Now, who’s going to help me if I slip?_ He wondered.

He had to be very, very careful making his way up the hill. Cas and the mother were ahead of him, climbing steadily, Cas putting his bare hand into the snow to brace both himself and the family. Sam wished he could do the same, but the toddler was heavy and he needed both arms to hold him securely. He didn’t dare use just one in case he squirmed and Sam dropped him. Sam didn’t have a lot of experience with children, although Dean’s sister Jo had two now with her partner Meg.

It hadn’t seemed this steep on the way down, Sam was sure. Surely, he must be near the top by now. The little boy was huddled against his chest, keeping his face out of the wind, and Sam could feel his cold nose against his collarbone. Sam could barely see where he was going, blinded by the sleet which was blowing horizontally now.

His foot slipped on a loose chunk of ice.  He gasped, a sudden stinging burst of cold air painful in his chest, unable to windmill his arms or brace himself with the child tucked against him. He felt himself leaning back too far and knew for sure he and the kid were both going to fall. 

Strong hands caught his shoulders and pulled him forward, safe. “Easy, Sammy,” murmured a voice like someone had just chain-smoked twelve packs of cigarettes. “Easy, sweetheart, I gotcha, I gotcha.”

 _Dean_.

Sam let himself be helped up over the top of the hill, which had piled up with snow blowing off the road way. Dean put an arm around his waist, his hand over the kid's ducked head, helping them both back to the truck where his mother was waiting.

“Dean,” gasped Sam.

“Easy, Sammy, sit in the truck and warm up a spell.” Dean eased Sam up into the seat, still clutching the child like a teddy bear. As soon as he felt the warmth of the heater on his cheeks, Sam realized he was frozen through and damp, his face wet with tears or stinging snow.

“Mama,” bleated the kid, reaching for her, and he was plucked out of Sam’s grip and lifted to the back. Sam shivered in the sudden absence of a little body in his arms.

“Sam?” Cas was reaching for him, pulling his knit hat lower to his eyebrows, redirecting the heat towards him.

“Dean’s out there!” gasped Sam.

“I’m going to help him, just stay in here and keep warm.”

Sam closed his eyes. Apparently Cas slid back down the hill and started the engine, giving it a little gas while Dean got the winch running. Sam could hear the clank of heavy machinery. The truck shuddered with the work of lifting the car, but seemed eminently capable of handling the strain. Sam looked out the window and could see the car being hauled up slowly like a fish on the line. Dean was standing next to the winch, bundled up in his snow clothes, critically watching the progress of the tow.

Dean would have had no problems crossing the Alps on an elephant, thought Sam, randomly. Or fighting a lion to the death. There was nothing Dean couldn't do.

Before long the car was over the steepest part of the hill, and Cas was back helping Dean mount the tow. Sam wanted to help, but he was shivering too badly to suggest it. Cas had come back to check him over, giving him a critical look and a pat on the shoulder before heading back to assist.

Sam watched them, two dark shapes in the dreary snow, working together; he could imagine Dean’s patient voice, and Cas’ quick obedience.

“Thank you,” said the woman, her voice still tight although she too was soothed by the warmth of the car and no doubt the reassurance of her children safe and warm nearby. “You can’t imagine the night we’ve had, for a moment there I really thought ..."

“Just doing our jobs, Ma'am," said Sam, realizing that he sounded too much like one of Dean’s beloved TV cowboy heroes. "I mean ... you're very welcome, we're happy to help."

“Okay, that’s it,” said Dean, pulling open the driver’s side door and climbing in. “Let’s blow this joint. Ma’am, my buddy Cas here is going to climb in the back with you, if there’s room.”

There was room as long as Cas took the now-sleepy little boy on his lap, which he did with equanimity. The boy settled willingly back against him, his head tucked under Cas’ chin, blinking sleepily out the window.

How must they appear to her, Sam wondered idly, three rough, winter-worn men in heavy boots and coats. She could never guess their tenderness with each other, the sweetness of their life together. He could never even attempt to explain.

It took another twenty minutes to get the family settled in a nearby hotel, the fiat dropped off at the repair shop next to _Smith's Towing and Salvage_. Dean tipped his head goodbye to them, settling his bones into the front seat without a word, letting Cas drive them home. He was breathing with an audible wheeze.

“Thank you boys,” he said.

“You promised you would be a good patient now,” Cas warned him, carefully steering the heavy truck down the neighborhood streets to their little house. They’d left the lights on in the windows and the house looked warm and inviting.

Sam felt his eyes tearing up at the sight.

As soon as they parked he hurried out of the passenger seat to Dean’s side, helping him carefully up the snowy walk. Dean didn’t protest at all, just leaned into him. They both enjoyed the long line of heat where they were pressed together.

“Straight to bed,” said Cas, kneeling to help Dean out of his snow boots. “And you’re not getting up again the rest of the weekend.” Dean stroked his hair before he stood up, and Cas smiled.

Sam helped him out of his coat, Dean’s eyes wondering on his face, reaching once to touch Sam’s cheek. “I’m not sure he’s tracking, Cas,” whispered Sam. “Did we seriously just let him operate heavy machinery?”

“He knows his job is done, for now,” said Cas, easing under Dean’s arm and gently guiding him towards the bedroom. “Don’t you, Dean?”

“Cassie,” said Dean, nuzzling the dark hair under his nose. He never called Cas ‘Cassie.’

“How are you feeling now?” asked Cas.

Dean blinked. “Feel gross,” he said dully.

Sam and Cas patiently coaxed him through brushing his teeth and washing his face. That luxury bath Sam had been planning would have to wait till tomorrow, when Dean wasn’t half asleep. At least he took a couple Tylenol without complaining.

Cas found a pair of Dean’s soft sweatpants and Sam’s oversized hoodie, which they all liked to snuggle in at different times although none of them would admit it.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” Sam promised. “How about I rub your shoulders for a while? That sound good?”

“You’re … loving …this,” Dean accused, rolling himself slowly onto the bed. Cas slipped in next to him, giving him something to lean against.

“Shush,” Sam murmured, sliding his warm hands over Dean’s shoulders. It felt good to give something back to the man who took such loving care of him and Cas. “That feel good?”

“Mm-hmm,” Dean buried his face in Cas’ neck, muscles twitching under Sam’s arms as he released his tension.

Sam smiled at Dean’s blissful expression. For all his tough-guy attitude, he was the most touch-oriented person Sam had ever met. He loved to touch and be touched, always patting Sam’s shoulder, petting his hair, kissing his forehead. Holding his hand – God, did Dean love to hold Sam’s hand, shy and full of hope and wonder every time, lighting up like a Christmas tree.

“Love you guys,” Dean muttered.

“We love you too,” said Cas, pressing soft little kisses all over Dean’s quiet face. “Now, you must rest so you can feel better in the morning, and when you wake up I’ll make you anything you like.”

Dean hummed. “Anything?”

“Anything. What would my big, handsome hero ask for?” asked Cas, nuzzling their noses together. “Hmm?”

Dean cracked one bloodshot eye. “Maybe –” he bit his lip. “Maybe jello?”

“Of course. What flavor?”

“Red.”

Sam rolled his eyes, although he had anticipated this answer. In no world he inhabited should _red_ be a flavor.

“And – chocolate pudding … the kind that come in a plastic tub …”

“Of course,” Cas promised.

“Mm,” said Dean, closing his eyes.

Cas resumed tenderly stroking Dean’s flushed cheek. “He’s warm,” he whispered. Dean turned his face into the touch, a faint wrinkle on his forehead that made Sam want to rub it away.

“You’re worn out,” said Sam, looking at the bruises under Dean’s eyes. “Do you want to try to get some sleep?”

“You … worried about me, sweetheart?” asked Dean, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled.

“Of course I worry about you,” said Sam, “I always worry. I need you to be strong enough to boss me around.”

“Never too sick for that.”

Sam tried to pull up the blankets, but Dean peevishly pushed them away again. “M’hot,” he fussed.

“Here.” Cas stripped back the bedclothes to just the top sheet. “Here you go, Dean.” He held it up like a tent until Dean rolled slowly underneath.

“M’cold,” Dean murmured.

Sam crawled in, pressing up against his back. “Better?”

“Cas too,” said Dean. They both watched Cas shimmy out of his pants and climb in at Dean’s front. Dean tangled his fist in Cas’ soft shirt, tugging him in. Cas went willingly, resting his head on Dean’s chest. Dean’s hand came up to cradle his skull possessively, keeping him there.

“Sleep, Dean,” Cas urged, staying in place.

Sandwiched between his subs, Dean relaxed, laying his head on the pillow.

For a while they dozed, all three of them curled up together. Well, Dean dozed. Sam laid there listening to his congested breathing, noting with concern the faint sheen of sweat that was building on his forehead. After a few moments of fruitless worrying, he eased himself carefully out of Dean’s embrace (Dean gave a snort, reaching, face wrinkling with concern, but allowed himself to be consoled by Cas snuggling in closer, filling in the space). Sam tiptoed to the bathroom for a clean washcloth, which he soaked in cold water and wrung out thoroughly. Carrying it back to Dean, he gently wiped Dean’s brow, reassured when his rumpled expression smoothed out under the soothing touch.

“He’s warmer,” said Cas. Sam glanced down, unsurprised to find the smaller man awake and watching him, unmoving in Dean’s arms.

“Yeah.” Sam touched the cloth gently to Dean’s collarbones, sliding it around to the back of his neck. He felt reverent, like a priest washing an idol.

“Smmy?” Dean’s forehead creased. “S’that you?”

“It’s just me, Dean,” Sam assured him, “Just trying to cool you down a little. Does that feel good?”

“Mm.” Dean wasn’t quite coherent, still mostly asleep. Cas reached up to smooth the hair back from his forehead, and Dean turned his face into the touch.

“Does your chest hurt?” asked Cas anxiously.

“It’s fine,” said Dean. Sam met Cas’ gaze and rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure Dean would say he was fine even if he had an iron spike through his ribcage.

“Help me sit him up against the pillows,” said Cas. “I don’t want it to go to his lungs.”

It took both of them to get him up. “M’okay,” said Dean, accepting the pillow throne.

“Yeah, you’re okay,” said Sam, kissing his cheek. “You’re fine.”

“Just rest, Dean,” Cas soothed. “You will be feeling better soon, and Sam and I are here to serve you until you recover. We will take care of everything.”

Sam laid down as well. But a minute later Dean was sitting up again.

“Cassie, where’d you go?” asked Dean. “It’s cold now.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. Here I am. Let’s lie back down.”

Dean hummed in agreement. “Where’s Sam,” he mumbled, a moment later. “Sammy?”

“He’s here,” Cas murmured, “it’s alright. Shh, Dean.”

“Sammy?”

Sam leaned over them, his heart twisting. “Dean? Hey. Look, here I am. Hi.”

Dean reached for him and pulled him protectively closer. “Cas, do we have to go back?” he asked. “I don’t want to be … him again.”

Sam shivered. Dean wasn’t even making sense now.

“Should we give him something?” asked Sam.

“He just needs to know we’re nearby,” said Cas calmly.

“We’re right here,” Sam whispered. “We’re here, we’re safe, we’re with you.”

“Don’t wanna go back,” said Dean. “Cas, don’t let them take us.”

“They won’t, I promise,” said Cas. Sam couldn’t tell if he was just humoring Dean, or what. “I promise. You are safe here, forever. Your name is Dean Smith. Your parents are Bobby and Ellen. Your sister is Jo. This world is the only one that matters.”

“Yeah,” breathed Dean.

“Forever and ever,” promised Cas.

“You swear?”

Cas kissed his cheek, gently. “This is our only lifetime now. I promise, Dean. We are safe here, forever.”

“Thanks Cas,” said Dean. His words were slurring. He closed his hand around Cas’ wrist and refused to let go, even as he drifted into sleep. Cas, willingly imprisoned, settled down beside him on the bed.

“What was that about?” asked Sam.

Cas shook his head, not answering, his eyes on Dean’s soft, flushed, sleeping face.

Dean stirred, half asleep between them in a warm bundle.

“Love you,” he murmured, pulling Sam in tighter, and kissing Cas’ messy hair. “Always have, always will.”

 

**THE END**

 

 

_Check out the fabulous art post at[Tumblr ](http://scribblyscratch.tumblr.com/post/104884303791/andddd-tfwbigbang-part-deux-in-a-complete)and [Livejournal,](http://paxdracona.livejournal.com/12613.html) too!_

 

 

 

 

 

 

[ ](http://scribblyscratch.tumblr.com/post/104884303791/andddd-tfwbigbang-part-deux-in-a-complete)

  
**__[Art by](http://scribblyscratch.tumblr.com/post/104884303791/andddd-tfwbigbang-part-deux-in-a-complete) [Paxdracona](../../../../users/Paxdracona/pseuds/Paxdracona)_ _ **

  
 

**Author's Note:**

> Just FYI, in real life I'm not on the bdsm scene, so please don't take anything here too seriously. This is just for fun! And thanks for reading.


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